Freedom, Fascination, and Ferocity
by Areias
Summary: After losing the blueprint for the Prometheus Engine, a drunk and depressed Matt is comforted by Nadira in a way neither of them expected. The problem is, Matt remembers nothing of the night, and leaves Nadira torn about pursuing her own desires. And what would Kate do about all this? Set in the very last parts of Skybreaker and before Starclimber. Rated T for now.* Might change
1. To the Poor

**Author's Notes:**

Hello everyone! For my old readers, I'm very sorry if you got a notification from your author alert that you expected to be about "Dreams and Hopes and Other Nasty Stuff". That fic is currently at a standstill, I am sad to say, because Bryce and Juli are at a very critical spot where the plot now would determine the plot of everything for the next 3 years. I haven't thought out and worked out all of what's going to happen yet, so I'm holding off on that fic for now.

On the other hand, I absolutely adore this series by Kenneth Oppel, and so have decided to give a try at this fanfic. Yes, there will be lemons in later chapters so this is rated M. I've always felt intrigued by the 2nd book, which I found to be the best of the three, and this fic explores the relationship between the 3 most interesting characters in the series: Matt and Kate for sure, but also our dear Nadira.

That said, please enjoy and review, thank you!

* * *

_**Hal was breathing heavily. For a moment, I thought he might lunge across the table and strangle me. Then all the fire seemed to go out of him. "You were right there! Why didn't you take some?"**_

"_**Heavy stuff, gold."**_

"_**Just twenty bars would've fixed my ship and eased my debt!"**_

"_**I was rescuing Kate," I said. "There wasn't time."**_

_**Nadira gave a quick nod. "You did the right thing," she said.**_

_**Hal snorted. "Ah, yes, very valiant of you. But let me give you my opinion. Man to man, you understand. I think you may find that Kate de Vries would admire you more if you'd taken some gold."**_

_**(Excerpt from Skybreaker by Kenneth Oppel; paperback edition, pages 539~540.)*Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this fanfiction.**_

I didn't know what else to say after that, so I left. I made for Dorje's cabin which we shared, needing some time by myself. The first mate would be at the helm now, since our captain was currently not very fit to pilot.

I tried to put my mind on other things, but it kept wandering back to the small round sphere containing the meticulously drawn prints for the most fantastic machine in the world. I walked in, clumsily sat down on my bunk, and stared out of the porthole. I did not remember feeling like this, ever. Hal's words had roused my anger, but now that my head was cooler, a wall of shame slammed into me and threatened to crush me with its immensity. I let myself collapse onto the bed and closed my eyes.

The cabin door opened. I smelled sandalwood-scented soap.

"Don't mind Hal," said Nadira. "He's not being himself."

I did not sit up, nor turn around to face her. Instead I opened my eyes and kept staring at the clouds.

"Matt? You _are_ awake, are you not?"

I gave a hollow chuckle. "It's very kind of you to say that."

Her tone took on a slightly harder edge as she understood. "You think I blame you, too?"

Her accent reminded me of Baz's, and I thought of how he would comfort me with his jokes if we were still sharing a cabin aboard the _Aurora_.

"I don't mind," I lied. "If you hate me now, I deserve it."

"You're sounding apologetic again," she said, with a touch of exasperation. I heard her pull over the only chair in the cabin and sit down. Her stare bore into the back of my head.

"You're asking me to not own up responsibility for this wretched thing I've done," I said. I'd been about to say 'two wretched things', but realized I did not feel at all sorry for not taking the gold. Kate's safety was worth all the gold on the _Hyperion_ ten times over.

"You said yourself, anyone could have forgotten it."

"That was me being immature. Angry. Hal pushed me and I wanted to push back. But I shouldn't have forgotten."

The wall of shame grew into a mountain. My chest felt abnormally tight, despite being aloft.

"You did the right thing," she said.

"For not taking the gold, yes," I agreed. "But I was an imbecilic, good-for-nothing little kid. Who forgets a rucksack?"

"Once again, Matt. You said yourself that anyone could've forgotten it."

"I don't want to _be_ anyone!" I said fiercely. "I _can't_ be anyone! Do you see? I must be better, or nobody is going to give me a minute of their day!"

She probably got surprised by my outburst. After a few seconds of silence, I finally heard her sigh. "Suit yourself. I knew you haven't got a cruel bone in your body, but I didn't realize how many craven bones are in there instead."

A flare of anger lit within me, but the mountain snuffed it out in a fraction of a second. I did not say anything back.

So she stepped quietly out of the cabin and left me to wallow in my misery.

ooo

I did not know when I fell asleep, but I did, not even undressing. When I woke up, we were passing over a large expanse of ocean, dark and silky under the starry sky. The cabin was dark, but a stream of warmth flowed into me as I felt a blanket over my body. It must have been Dorje, not wanting to disturb me.

I sat up, and folded the blanket into a square before putting it back onto his bed. Still somewhat groggy, I walked out of the room into the hallway. Down at the end where the common room was, light and sorrowful music poured out.

I took a breath, steeled myself, and walked into the first dinner aboard the _Saga_ after a disastrous failure of an expedition.

A slow tune was playing at the recordplayer. I'd not realized Hal had such sorrowful songs in his collection, but it was fitting considering our circumstances.

Kate greeted me jovially as usual, completely unaffected by the music, and for that I was grateful. I managed a weak smile which probably looked like some spasm or twitch at the corner of my lips, and walked over to the empty seat beside her. Nadira was to my right, and then Dorje, and then Hal. I did not look at any of them as I pulled out the chair and sat down. Miss Simpkins, on Kate's left, shot me a baleful glare, as if it were her ship I'd just handed over to the bank for seizing. I saw Kate's right hand put down her knife, and felt it close around my left a moment later. She squeezed.

"Thank you," I said softly.

She didn't say anything except to intertwine her fingers with mine. I helped myself to some bread and a bowl of curry, but even Mrs. Ram's fabulous cooking seemed to have lost some of its usual savor.

I found myself staring at the plate most of the time while the crew spoke softly in Tibetan. There was no English chatter save for the usual and continuous stream of complaints coming from Miss Simpkins. The atmosphere could not be described as anything but dreadful. It was not like the _Saga_ at all, and for a moment I was reminded of the crew mess back on the _Flotsam_.

I ate steadily, so made good pace. After I finished, Mrs. Ram reached across the table and ladled up a second helping, which was when my eyes blurred.

Because I did not deserve such kindness and companionship. Mrs. Ram's second helpings, Kami's bandaging and tending, and Dorje's blanket; I deserved none of it.

For with Hal now in debt, these crew members, so faithful to their good friend and captain and so happy onboard the _Saga_ as a large family, would have to be dispersed. Hal would have no salary to keep them in his employ. They would be forced to leave him, and try to make out for themselves with service across many different ships.

It felt as if I were responsible not only for Hal's debt, for crushing Nadira's hope and my own, but also for destroying an airborne family of Sherpa crew. As if reading my thoughts, Kate's hand gave another squeeze. I blinked away the imminent tears, and looked to the left at her. She seemed so sympathetic, her face so kind.

But with a jolt, Hal's words came back to me. _"Kate de Vries would admire you more if you'd taken some gold"_.

I averted Kate's gaze and dug into my food once more, back hunched and guilty. A hot rush of some emotion made my chest ache. I felt the entire table trying to ignore my presence.

A glass clinked down on the table in front of me.

"Drink," said Nadira.

I didn't even need to guess, for the fume of strong brandy shot into my nostrils.

"I'm fine, thank you for offering," I said in a small voice, refusing to look at her. I still remembered her tears when I'd told Hal about the hidden gold.

Nadira was about to say something else, but Hal beat her to it.

"Drink, Cruse!" Hal bellowed, slamming down his glass. "Alcohol will make this all pass." He laughed.

I looked up to find him staring at me with undisguised disgust and contempt, but also with sorrow and pity. He was very clearly drunk, yet again.

"Hal, some of these could be worth something if you sold it," Dorje cautioned, in an attempt to take away the wine bottle. Hal snarled and guarded his liquor tightly.

"Don't try to trick me, Dorje. I've five crates of alcohol, and none of them is worth shit," he said. "So let's drink them all tonight. Ladies, will you join us?"

I'm not sure if the ladies were more appalled at his use of such vulgar profanity, or at his invitation to get drunk.

"I refuse," said Kate, her nostrils narrowing dangerously. "Hal, look at you! Where is the confident man who I sought out in this venture?"

"A facade," Hal snorted. "A mirage. Whatever you will call it."

"And I suppose Matt took away that facade?"

"Your _boy_ paupered me, yes." He stared at Kate with a fevered intensity. "You seem to be quite the willful miss, aren't you? Next time, why don't you try to keep a better control over what idiotic actions he could cause? Teach your boy some wits."

The way he said "your boy" was rude and even bawdy, and I did not care at all for his tone. Fierce anger burned a temporary hole through the mountain of shame in my heart, but I bit my tongue. Kate, on the other hand, flushed with rage and embarrassment both.

"I do not own him!" she said. "And he does not own me. We are not responsible for each others' actions."

"No? He was going to save his damsel in distress, I seem to recall, while passing up millions of dollars in fortune!"

"I am _not_ a damsel," Kate said vehemently. But then she added, in a voice only audible to me, "but I certainly was in distress."

The small comment brought half a smile to my face, and I felt slightly better.

"Stop arguing, both of you!" Miss Simpkins trilled. "Kate, go back to the stateroom. Mr. Slater, I understand you are upset, but please don't take it out on us."

"I refuse to be sent back like a misbehaving child, Marjorie." Kate responded coolly to her chaperone's request. Miss Simpkins sighed and left the table, knowing how willful her young charge could be.

I squeezed Kate's hand.

"You're just going to get more angry if you stay here," I say softly. "You need rest. We all need rest. Hal's not himself."

"Indeed he isn't," Kate said, keeping a steely glare on the captain, while making sure her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "There is no reason for you to take his disgusting bullying, Matt."

"It's my fault," I said.

"Not that nonsense again."

"You shouldn't have to get angry for my sake."

"It's not for _your_ sake, Matt. This simply isn't right."

Suddenly, I felt weary.

"It's my fault," I repeated. I let go of her hand. "I'll deal with this. I'll have to."

"Deal with it by drinking!" Hal roared, and laughed again. He'd been listening to our whole exchange with clear contempt.

"I'll drink too," Nadira said quietly. I looked at her in surprise. "Matt, this isn't your fault, but we all need something to forget right now." She looked at Kate, and I thought there was a slight hostility despite everything we've all been through together. "Miss de Vries, I'm afraid you won't understand this fully. Please allow us to do something to alleviate our emotions."

Kate looked indignant but did not argue. I agreed with Nadira, though. Kate never had to worry about the scruffs in a secondhand uniform.

"Very well, Nadira," she said. "But Matt won't drink, yes? Matt, you shouldn't. You can't. Alcohol is bad for you."

She looked at me earnestly, confident I wouldn't drink. Her tone is almost didactic, as if she knew more about me than I did. It irked me. I wondered if she meant it as a true kindness, or because she's trying to prove she really does understand how I think; how poorer people think.

I looked at the brandy in front of me. I thought about how and what I've managed to ruin by forgetting to take that accursed rucksack.

I grabbed the glass, and downed the spicy liquid in one go.

Kate's eyes on me looked shocked, but then her gaze turned steely, and her nostrils narrowed. I forced myself to be indifferent.

Seeing that she was having no influence on me, Kate stood up abruptly, almost sending her silverware crashing to the floor. "Fine then. If you are so adamant of your own wrongdoing, then suit yourself, Mr. Cruse. Drink yourself silly for all I care. I'll be retiring for the night, everyone. Thank you for the meal, Mrs. Ram; it's a pleasure as always."

With a last, disappointed look at me, she left, tailing Miss Simpkins towards their stateroom.

I'd never felt more wretched in my life.

"Well well," said Hal. "Look at this. Rejected, Cruse. Probably on account of your ludicrous refusal to take some gold back. Haha. Let's drink. Drink!"

His comments caused a fresh new pang in my chest, though I did not let it show.

Dorje cast me a look, and then shook his head, sighing. He stood up, said something in Tibetan, and the crew all rushed away from the dining room to do their duties. Shame doubled back on me as I looked at the suddenly empty table.

"Matt…" said Nadira.

"Give me your plates," I said. Mrs. Ram had retreated back to the kitchen, and I did not want to cause her any more trouble. This is a dark night aboard the _Saga_.

Nadira handed me her plates wordlessly, and I stacked them atop of mine. I walked over to Hal and took his plates too. He did not object, and I thought his stare at me was more weary than hateful now.

I piled the plates at the kitchen counter, and gave Mrs. Ram whatever smile I could manage.

"Thank you," I said. "The food was delicious as usual."

The diminutive Sherpa woman looked as if she were about to say something, but decided against it and nodded. With that, she went back to her work, and I walked back to the table.

Hal had opened a new bottle during the short time I was gone. Nadira was pouring herself some rather large helpings of whiskey.

Wordlessly, I sat back down. The tingle of burn the brandy left in my throat was starting to being a warm, glowing feeling. And it felt good. I refilled my glass, downed it, and refilled again.

Nadira's green eyes watched me, oddly intense.

"You see?" she said. "It makes you feel better."

"We're only lying to ourselves," I said.

"Phaw!" came Hal's voice from the head of the table. "Exactly! But what else can we do, eh?"

"Nothing else," I admitted. "We can't do anything else."

"To the poor!" Hal cried, raising his glass high in an unsteady fashion. Bits of whiskey sloshed out.

"To the poor," Nadira seconded.

I looked at both of them, and they looked back at me.

"To the poor," I said, and drank.


	2. Good Night

**Author's Note:**

**This is a bit short, but it will probably get longer later on. As always, please review, thank you.**

* * *

We drank like there was no tomorrow. Which, for Hal and me, would be half true. We went through four of Hal's five barrels, and was going through the fifth.

Hal was already passed out, mumbling incoherently in his sleep. The wretched gramophone was still playing its slow, sorrowful tune as we doused ourselves with alcohol. We reeked, all three of us, and we would doubtless get a massive headache the following morning. But the warmth and the companionship is too much to pass up.

For the umpteenth time this night, I looked over to my right, at the boy who grabbed my attention from the moment I saw that fateful _Thames_ headline: **"Vikram Spzirglas Brought to Justice by Cabin Boy, 15!"**

I had been filled with anger at first. The article detailed on how the cabin boy, Matt Cruse, bested my father in a sword fight at the top of the _Aurora_, holding nothing aside from a kitchen knife used for cutting vegetables. How the dreaded pirate lost footing due to his wounds, and how Matt gave him the final blow. Then it described how he singlehandedly freed all of the passengers and crew aboard by drugging the pirates, and then piloted the airship to safety while its captain and officers were still recovering. It had seemed as likely a story as the ones my father used to tell me before bed, but the truth was the truth. Vikram Spzirglas was dead.

I'd became obsessed with the news, and my father's killer. I even carried a grainy photograph cut-out of Matt for a couple of weeks. The newspaper had made him look bigger and meaner than he actually was, with none of the slender, willowy grace and good manners I saw for myself. Or maybe it had been my own imagination, for I saw him in my mind's eye as a towering boy of six feet, brutal and strong, huge in stature for his age and with a cruel smirk.

My mother hadn't cared much. Father had broke her heart, and we Roma were good at remembering. Plus, she was remarried now, and quite happy with my stepfather as far as I could tell. When I'd shown her the news, she'd only took it, laughed, and told me to go on with my chores.

The timing of everything after that was just right. I'd escaped home for marriage, right about the same time when the _Hyperion_ was rediscovered. Rath and his men had found me soon after, but with a bit of trickery I'd kept one step ahead of them. It ought to have had surprised me when I'd found out Rath was going after the very Matt Cruse, but somehow, I'd known that we were going to meet this way. The months had dampened my hatred for him, and an avid curiosity had taken its place. Of course, there'd still been the intense, conflicting feelings that remained, but I'd been determined to not let it get between my business proposal.

And when I had finally met him, I'd been surprised at how soft-spoken and well brought-up he was. Then, all the remaining hatred washed away when he'd told us all the truth of his encounter with my father. He was so honest, and so kind, that it hadn't been hard to forgive him, especially when there'd been nothing to forgive in the first place. The voyage went on as usual, and before I knew it, I'd kissed him.

It'd been intended as a jest at first, to see how he would react — he was also quite the looker, which certainly added to the enjoyability of the kiss. But beyond his looks there was a tender heart; a kind of honest, gentle goodness that I'd never experienced with people around me growing up. He'd cared for me, stood up for me. There had been real sparks of attraction between us, and we could both tell.

So, unexpectedly, it had happened. Happened later that day, after the kiss, when I'd offered to work at his math with him, and he'd smiled his usual smile at me. A bit timid, a bit unsure, and genuine to boot.

From that moment on, I knew I was in love.

Matt's eyes glinted with the effects of the alcohol. He was handsome, but not in a grab-your-eyes fashion; none of his features were especially great, but somehow, when you put them together, he was perfect. He had an impish or elfish charm about him, something that told of a free soul. A gentle breeze solidified into human form was how I would describe him. Restless but content at the same time, and infinitely refreshing.

"Why are you staring?" he asked, words slurred. "At me?"

I realized with a start that I've been looking at him for a few minutes now. He was looking back at me, curious.

"I'm thinking about how we met," I said. "Well, not the first time. How we _really_ met, on the rooftops of Paris."

My mind was clear, for I've always been good with alcohol. My cheeks would flush and my eyes would become abnormally bright after a few glasses, which made people think that I was a lightweight drinker. But I didn't actually get drunk until I've had a tremendous amount of alcohol, and my mind right now was no different than it'd been before we began to drink.

Matt smiled. His smile was something to behold — sunshine hidden in plain sight. For a short moment I was jealous how Kate could own this smile in a way I never could. What a lucky, lucky girl.

"I remember, too." Matt said. "You were a lunatic."

"It wasn't lunacy," I said. "It was running for our lives."

"You were wearing a nice coat," he said with a gorgeously stupid grin.

"The one I'm wearing now?" I asked, knowing it was true. I've only ever owned one coat.

"It turned into wings," he said. "And you _flew_. And I thought, I'd like a coat like that."

"You don't need it. You can already fly, you silly boy."

"I can fly," he repeated. "Maybe."

"Lighter than air, is that what they say?"

"Air," he said, and grinned again.

I leaned in and kissed him.

He didn't really pull away. The wine had clouded his mind, and I was glad. He tasted strongly of alcohol, but under the pungent burn, there was still the old Matt, the one who smelled of fresh morning air when we'd kissed in the _Saga_'s crow's nest.

"I think I love you," I said in a tiny murmur after I pulled away.

"Thank you. I thought you did too," he said happily. With unsteady hands he found an open bottle and drank directly from the mouth.

If only this were true. Drinks made men say queer things. Matt wasn't exactly the most sensitive boy in the world, and I wasn't sure at all if he even had an inkling of my true feelings. He probably thought that, whatever was between us, was merely physical attraction.

Suddenly agitated, I pulled away the bottle and leaned in to kiss him again. His kiss back was clumsy but endearing, and I wondered if he'd ever been drunk before. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time, because I knew that it was all an illusion, but couldn't stop myself from falling deeper. I wanted to remind myself that he belonged to another girl now, that we would never have a chance together. An ostrich with her head in the sand, that's what I was.

"Would you like me better if I hadn't dropped the blueprint?" He asked suddenly, as he let up a little.

I wondered then how clear his thoughts actually were. His eyes, two cerulean orbs as clear and blue as the sky in which he was born, were affixed on me, intent. His expression was also intense, hungry for approval. I thought about the question for a good long minute.

"No," I answered finally. "I would like you either way. It's who you are, not what you did." I didn't dare to use the word 'love' anymore. Even with Hal passed out and the dining room empty, it still felt too intimate.

He nodded. He coughed, and a bit of foam was at the edge of his lips.

"Matt," I said. "I think you should go to sleep."

I looked around and found that there were hardly any liquor left. Between the three of us, we'd drank up nearly all of Hal's stores.

"I'm not tired," he protested.

"But you're drunk."

"I'm not… drunk."

He gulped down another mouthful of whiskey before I took the bottle away from him.

"I think it's a good idea that you stopped drinking," I said.

"Hmm," he murmured meekly as he started to cough again. "Okay."

A soft grumble came from his stomach.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"I feel a little…" he looked at me, trying to put together his muddled thoughts. "My stomach. A little sick."

I touched his shoulder and got him to stand up.

"I hope you don't vomit," I said.

"I won't," he said. "Maybe I _should_ sleep."

"You should," I confirmed. "Here. I'll lead you back to your cabin."

He leaned on me a little as we walked through the dining room. The gesture made me feel giddy.

Our progress was slow, for his steps were unsteady and small.

"Wait," he said as we reached his cabin. "Wait."

"What's wrong?"

"We should… tell Dorje. Get Hal to cabin."

I understood. Hal was passed out and drunk. Someone needed to tend to him, as I was tending to Matt. For a moment, I was stirred speechless by his kindness. Despite all of Hal's verbal bullying, he still thought of the drunk captain, even while he was drunk himself. I thought he might be the most altruistic person I've ever met, and that made me love him all the more.

They say that alcohol made you feel temporarily better, but I felt quite depressed. I did not understand. Why couldn't two people, who clearly attracted each other, belong to each other?

Some ugly thoughts entered my mind about Kate. I brushed them away.

Matt was trying to tug me in the direction of the bridge.

"I know, I know," I reassured him. "Just stay here. I'll get Dorje."

He nodded meekly and leaned against the wall. He coughed again, and made some alarmingly deep and throaty noises. I hoped he had been saying the truth when he'd claimed he wouldn't vomit.

I decided to get it over with as and return as soon as possible. I ran up to the bridge, awash in warm light. I saw Kami, Ang, and Dorje, with Dorje at the helm. All three sherpas turned curiously to me.

"Nadira," Kami said. "Are you drunk?"

"No," I said. "I'm fine. Hal is, though. And so is Matt."

"You need help?" Dorje asked with his kind, almond eyes.

"Yes. I'm taking care of Matt, but I'll need someone to care for Hal."

"I'll go, then," Dorje said. "Thank you for telling us." He then said something to Kami in Tibetan, and the sherpa nodded and went over to the helm.

Dorje and I walked aft.

I found Matt crumpled against the wall, breathing shallowly, almost asleep. Dorje looked concerned, but I waved him on, saying I could take care of it myself.

"Your cabin might smell quite boozy, though," I warned him apologetically.

He nodded good-naturedly. "I'm not going to be off duty until tomorrow morning. Don't worry. But my aunt —"

"I'll have a shower to clean myself off," I told him. I would never want to inconvenience Mrs. Ram by making our cabin smell like a bar.

He smiled gratefully, and went further aft while I started to tend to Matt.

"Can you stand?" I asked the chestnut-haired boy.

"Nnggh," Matt said.

I stretched out a hand, and he stared up at me groggily, not comprehending. I sighed, bent down, and put my hands under his arms. I gave a tug, and managed to get him standing again. He wasn't much heavier than I was, and I was already pretty light for a girl. I now understood why Mrs. Ram would want to fuss over him; he really could use some feeding.

"Let's get you in bed," I said, the same time as his head drooped forward and thunked on my shoulder. He desperately needed rest.

I opened the cabin door, turned on the lights, and managed to get him in his bunk. I remembered earlier this day, when I'd confronted him about blaming himself and taking Hal's bullying.

I got him to lie down, but didn't want to put blankets over him because it seemed quite unsanitary. His bed would be smelling of alcohol for days if I did. Instead, I just laid his head on his pillow, knelt down beside the bed, and kissed him again, gently.

He didn't kiss back, but he was staring at me after our lips parted, an utterly confused expression on his face.

"Hello," he said, visibly disoriented and trying to work out why I was there, and probably why I just kissed him.

I couldn't bear to look at his face any longer. I brushed his sweat-stuck hair from his forehead, and, turning off the lights on my way out, I escaped from his cabin. I closed the cabin door.

"Good night," I whispered. I held back my sudden urge of tears. Tears would be for later, in the shower, when it would blend with the running water.

When nobody could tell.


	3. I am Nadira

**Author's Notes:**

**Beware, mild lemons below. Read at your own caution; skip the steamy parts if you don't like lemons. I thought about writing everything out but they were both drunk, so they wouldn't have remembered much anyway. More detail would follow, but since this wasn't explicit, I think we can do with a T rating for now.**

* * *

I got the shower over with in as little time as I could manage. Seven minutes or so, and I went back to Matt, because that was how you took care of a drunk. I'd seen men choke on their spit or vomit after they were drunk, and some got no help and died. Although I thought it unlikely that Matt would vomit, he still needed to be looked after, and I worried about what would happen if I left him alone too long.

I snuck in his cabin, feeling like a thief. The moon was shining bright to starboard, and its lights spilled a little into the cabin from the portholes, so I could see the rough shapes of things in the room. Matt was a dark silhouette against the silvery light.

I stepped to his bunk and knelt down beside him. I heard his breathing, smelled the alcohol on him. Good; he hadn't vomited.

"Kate?" he asked in a scratchy voice.

My breath stopped in my throat.

"No, I'm Nadira," I finally managed to say after a while.

"Oh," he said. The moonlight was too weak, so I couldn't tell his expression. Was he disappointed it wasn't Kate? Or apathetic?

We were silent for a time, only the airship's usual drone enveloped the space between us. His breathing remained steady, but when I thought he'd fallen back to sleep, he spoke.

"Do you like the rich me? Or the poor me?"

"What?" I asked, startled.

"Would you like me, better. If I was rich?"

I didn't know why he was asking this.

"I'm hardly from money myself," I said. "You know this."

He scoffed. "If you're not from money, then… then I'm the King of Angleterre."

"What are you talking about?" I felt confused, and a more than a little indignant. "If I came from money—"

"Kate!" he said, exasperated. "You can eat at Jewels Verne everyday if you want!"

My heart sank. Matt might have sounded half-sober, but he was actually still very drunk. He must've been barely awake and groggy. These brief flashes of clarity in his hazy mind was not enough for him to register my voice and my person. He still thought I was Kate.

"I'm Nadira," I said again, more patiently this time, like teaching a young child.

"Answer question," he said, ignoring my words.

"I'm Nadira," I repeated yet again, with some anger now. I stood up and went over to turn on the light. I stormed back over to where he was, and put my face up close. "Look at me. Look at me. I'm not Kate."

His face twisted into a squint because of the light. He just closed his eyes after a few seconds.

"Too bright," he said. "Kate, turn off."

"Look at me, Matt," I said. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. I shielded some of the light by putting a hand against his forehead. He stared at my face hard, for a few seconds, and shook his head.

"Kate," he said.

"Look again! Look at my skin!"

He belched loudly then, an alcoholic fume shot out of his mouth. He closed his eyes.

"Nhggnh," he said. "Tired."

"Look at me!" I almost shouted. I was glad of the _Saga_'s sturdy, sound-proof walls. "I am Nadira!"

He didn't open his eyes. Instead, he leaned in and kissed me.

My own eyes opened wide in shock.

He kissed me. _Kissed_ me. I didn't kiss him. He _started_. My hands grabbed his hair almost on their own accord. When we broke apart, he was smiling a little, his usual smile, eyes still closed.

I couldn't bear to see it, so I went over to turn the lights off again. Somehow, it didn't matter as much whether or not he knew it was me anymore. I returned to kneel by the bed.

"Kate," he mumbled as he kissed me again, missing my lips in his first few tries. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried hard. I couldn't, do it."

By the soft moonlight, his face broke into a heart-wrenching sadness. Some cloud blocking the moon must have moved away, and silver streams of soft light spilled into the room, with none of the harsh glare of the normal cabin light. This made it better.

"I couldn't do it, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He was still mumbling.

Taking a deep breath, I didn't repeat my name anymore. I thought to myself, _why not?_ If he thought I was his Kate, if he _wanted_ me to be Kate, why not? If it meant I could have him for myself for as long as he was drunk, then sure.

I would be Kate.

"Couldn't do what, Matt?" I asked.

"I couldn't save the blueprint. I couldn't save you."

My mouth felt dry.

"But you _did_ save me."

"No. No." He leaned to kiss me once more. He made a gasping noise. "I couldn't save anyone. Not dad, not you. Not Nadira. Not Hal. No one."

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. He continued.

"I'm worthless," he said. "I wanted to be rich. I tried."

He made that gasping sound again, and with a startle I realized that it had been a sob. I put my arms around him and he eased into me.

"You're not worthless," I said. "You're the best person I have ever met."

He gave a little snort.

"No," I said. "You really are. You're so hopeful. And kind. You're too decent a person, and this world we live in is too harsh. That's why you think you're worthless."

"Nadira said I was… like Statue of Liberty."

I laughed, happy he'd remembered. "Yes, yes she did."

"… nhgnh…" he groaned.

"What's the matter?"

"But…"

"But?"

"But I'm not…" he said, and the dejection and sadness in his voice was almost tangible. "Not as good as… not as good as you say. Not as good as she says."

He did another whiskey-scented burp. I hugged him into me tighter.

"You are," I said quietly. "You are. To me, you are."

When I kissed him once more, my vision swam. The porthole with the moon in view seemed very large, larger than I'd ever seen. Something inside me clicked, and instinctively, I knew that after tonight, things would never be the same. The alcoholic haze gripped me and spun me around. Nausea set in and I slumped on the bed, taking Matt down with me. He nuzzled against my cheek.

I couldn't believe myself. I'd gotten drunk. I must have had a lot more than I thought.

"Alright, Kate?" Matt was asking.

"I'm fine," I said. I hadn't been drunk in a very long time. I felt thirsty.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

Just then, a giddy rush seized me and I pulled up my legs from the floor and squeezed into his bunk with him. It was a tight fit, and I was exhilarated to be so close to him.

"Actually, I'm great," I said.

His hand reached up and brushed away a strand of my hair. It touched my cheek, and lingered to stay.

I decided that I like that.

I decided that I wanted more.

The small cabin suddenly became very stifling. We were high up — though not at the ridiculous heights of the _Hyperion_ anymore, we were still much higher up than the normal airship altitudes. Height meant cold. But I was hot in my blouse and skirt. The air was heavy with the smell of alcohol, Matt, and me.

It was hard to put an exact description on this smell. He smelled like himself. Like a refreshing breeze, or sunshine. I'd sat next to him after he just got out of shower, and he would smell of a soft, unknown fragrance. I wondered if it were his soap, or his person.

Not that it mattered. I nudged my nose to his and he chuckled at the sensation. His whole body reverberated.

I wanted him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted him to touch me. His hands on my cheek wasn't enough. I wanted him. I wanted more. I wanted him to touch me more, I wanted me to touch him.

I was so dizzy. Dizzy with the scents and the sensations. I touched his neck, felt his pulse. It was fast and frantic.

I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know what was happening. Guided by moonlight, my hand moved down to the collar of his shirt. It was of an average, coarse make, with a not-so-fine texture, since Matt wouldn't have been able to afford anything better. The top button was not fastened, so my hand kept going down and, upon finding the second button, undid it.

He either didn't notice or didn't care. He was starting to get the hiccups. I wanted more.

I undid the third button.

His hand moved from my cheek to my chin. Then my neck. He caressed the side of my neck tenderly. I liked that. And I wanted more.

I undid the fourth button.

I looked at his face, and found him staring at me.

"Hello," I said softly. He just kept staring, and didn't say anything. His sky-blue eyes were puzzled, but neither startled nor unhappy. I undid his fifth button.

A large portion of his shirt now hung open. By the moonlight, his chest was smooth, its paleness marked by little bruises and red marks. These were no doubt from our adventures aboard the _Hyperion_, for everyone had come back a little worse for wear.

Everything was cast in silver. And I thought, _I want to touch him_. _I really, __**really**__ want to touch him_. I put my hand inside the opening of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

And felt his skin. He was silky and soft, but I could also feel the lean muscles beneath. He let out a breath. I could feel his heartbeat. His entire body was thin, and built like something that was meant to move; something that was meant to move fast. Not the power and regal dignity of a lion or rhinoceros, but the grace and slender agility of a cheetah.

I was mesmerized. My hand trailed down, found the edge of his pectoral muscles, where chest started to become stomach. I slowly unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. He didn't resist me, or talk, or even move. He just looked at me with his beautiful eyes, panting a little, hiccuping from time to time. When he hiccuped, his entire chest gave a heave. I found that both funny and endearing.

I eased the shirt off his shoulders. We sat up. I got him to face the porthole, to see his face. Moonlight illuminated his head and torso.

He was exquisite. His pale shoulders, his collarbones, and the faint lines of his chest, all perfection. I took a breath, steadying myself, not entirely sure this was reality. I laid one hand on his stomach, a smooth and flat expanse just like his chest, and very slim. Muscular men were usually considered attractive, but I found myself liking Matt exactly as he was. I found some small indents along his stomach, and traced my hands over them. He laughed, for it must tickle.

I kissed him, and with the kiss, there bloomed an almost irresistible urge to _lick_ him. I thought of his chest, his stomach, his shoulders, and his collarbones. I reached behind him and wrapped him in my arms, feeling the sinews of his back. No, I wouldn't mind licking him at all. I wondered how he would taste. I wondered how his skin would feel as my tongue glided over him. I'd never had such disturbing thoughts, but the drunkenness dulled it, and somehow it felt okay.

So I did it. I licked his neck.

He tasted a little salty, as sweat naturally would. I thought he also tasted a little bit, just the tiniest bit of sweet, but that may have been my tongue tricking me. He made an adorable sound that was half a "huh" and half a gasp, and then hiccuped again. I moved my tongue down, to where his neck met his shoulders. And I didn't know what came over me then, but I bit him. Gently, of course, nothing more than a nibble. The effect was immediate, as he did a little jump.

"Did I hurt you?" I asked.

"N-no," he answered. "Just—hic—surprised. Hic."

"Do you like it?"

"I… don't know. Hic. I thin—hic—think so."

"Would you… like me to take off my blouse?"

He looked confused, yet again. Inebriation had robbed him of his mental faculties. I didn't wait for his response, though, for I was already filmed with sweat. I wanted to get out of my clothes.

With a swift movement, I took off my blouse and unclasped my skirt, and slid them off. I dropped them to the side, by the floor of the bunk.

I didn't think he understood what was happening. He just stared at me in half-shock, half-confusion. I was still wearing knickers and a simple, loose corset, but it was already embarrassing. I'd never been near any boy while wearing so little.

"Uh…?" he said. "K-Kate…?"

I silenced him with a kiss.

"Shhh," I said.

The room became sweltering. It made no sense, for I should've cooled off by taking off my clothes. My sight became misted over, as if I were still twenty thousand feet high, on the _Hyperion_. But my entire being felt electric. A thrill filled me, and it felt worse because it simply added to the heat within me that had nowhere to go.

I wanted to touch him. I wanted to touch all of him. I hugged and kissed and touched. It seemed like the right thing to do, like I was satisfying a desire to cool myself down. But no, I became even hotter. I was glad we didn't have blankets. I opened Matt's porthole, though we were going with the wind, and it wasn't much help.

I was covered in sweat now. We were panting. I wasn't sure if reason or thought were in either of our minds. It was more just pure, animalistic _wants_ that drove our actions — that drove _my_ actions. Matt hadn't really done much, except sit and stare and let himself be touched and kissed. His hiccups hadn't gone away. He still seemed confused.

I didn't care if he was confused. I just wanted to touch him. To nibble on him. To kiss him. To love him with myself, my own body. To press against him. He gave me more heat. I wanted more heat. I wanted to cool down, but I wanted more heat. He could give me both.

He was wearing trousers held together by a belt. I'd taken off the belt some time ago, I didn't remember when, so the trousers were loose around his slim waist. I eased it off him, he protested, but I persevered. I was stubborn. I wanted him. I wanted his warmth.

His underwear was plain. Just light grey briefs. The moonlight ended just above his waistline, so I struggled to see him. The lines of his thighs, and the region between his thighs. As I saw, I had a powerful, perverse desire to touch him _there_, but even in my alcohol-saturated brain, a bolt of shame and utter embarrassment must have shot through, and I blushed deep crimson and did not lay my hands any lower than his waist. Touching him below was too intimate, even for two drunken teenagers. I didn't feel it was appropriate.

I didn't know if what happened afterward was driven by thought or desire, but he started touching me, too.

That was when my world became so surreal that it almost hurts to think back. He touched me, and I crumbled. We crumbled together. I didn't know if what happened afterward was truly inevitable, but I knew that, neither of us could've stopped even if we had wanted to.

_**And we hadn't wanted to.**_


	4. Never be Drunk Again

**Author's Notes:**

**Please read and review, as always. Thank you. Slightly graphic, but nothing too bad.**

* * *

I woke with a splitting headache.

It was barely dawn. I managed a bleary glance through my porthole, and saw that we were passing over a vast plane of clouds, the sun's first weak rays splashing gold on them all.

My mouth had the residual taste of whiskey, gone bitter. The air was cold, clammy, and putrid. It stank.

I stank. I stank of alcohol, sweat, and some sour, rancid, and unfamiliar odor that made you wrinkle your nose. Mixed in was the smell of clean laundry and sandalwood soap, and the whole mixture made me beyond nauseous.

Groggily, I sat up in my bed. A less restful sleep I could not imagine — my body was sore and my muscles hard, and moving my head and arms made the sinews pop with such fierce pain that I saw momentary black stars in front of my eyes. My waist might as well have been frozen, for all the flexibility they were capable of. My hair was tousled.

I slowly swung my legs out from beneath the blanket. I struggled to rise, and managed it only after quite a bit of effort. My muscles shrieked in agonizing soreness, my hips most of all. It felt as if I'd been doing heavy lifting the entire day yesterday.

And the fatigue! My eyes could scarcely keep open. I felt more tired than I ever had, even after a night's watch up in the crow's nest. I would probably not have woken in another five hours if not for my pounding headache. I felt sick. I wanted to vomit and then go back to sleep.

Standing now, the morning air chilled me a little. My feet touched something, and I looked down. It was my shirt, trousers, and belt. And underwear.

I was naked.

To be honest, I felt too tired to be embarrassed. Nobody would come into my cabin at this hour. I bent down slower than an old man, and put on my underwear after picking it up from the ground. I reckoned that the whole process must've taken five whole minutes, so slow were my movement and so sore were my muscles.

It did occur to my muddled mind to wonder why I was naked, for I'd usually sleep with at least my briefs on. But my head was hurting too bad for thought.

I wanted to sit back down on the bed and curl back into the blankets, but I forced myself to stand. I felt lightheaded.

My movements might have been made underwater, they were so ponderous. I managed, after another good five minutes, to pull out my duffle bag from under my bunk. I took out a clean shirt, clean briefs, and a pair of trousers. I grabbed my bar of soap. It was yet another five minutes before I had my towel wrapped around my waist, and found myself in the hallway, panting. The simple actions of walking a few steps to the door, opening it, and walking a further few steps left my head ringing, and feeling like some infernal little dwarf were inside my brain, hammering at my skull. I had to lean against the hallway walls for purchase.

A door opened somewhere down the corridor, and in stepped Kate de Vries.

I looked up. My eyes hurt just from focusing. From somewhere in me, I mustered enough energy to blush.

Why did she have to come out? Why did she have to come in time to see the very worst of me?

My face was average — I may _just_ pass for handsome in a dim romantic light, wearing my Academy uniform, even though my jaw wasn't strong enough, nor my cheekbones prominent. It made me look boyish. But now, in the glare of the hallway lights, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs and a towel, with my hair sticking out in places and my eyes swollen and my face ghastly, I was sure I looked more than boyish. I looked ludicrous and horrendous. What's worse, my body was boyish, too. I didn't have an ounce of muscle compared to Hal, and I looked like an underfed child. I suddenly felt awfully self-conscious, and moved my clean clothes in front of my chest to cover up as much of my bare skin as possible.

Kate's face looked like she wasn't quite sure she was awake yet. I hoped not. She blinked, and finally made certain that it was me.

"Good morning Matt," she said cheerfully, as if seeing me half-naked and looking absolutely horrible was an everyday business.

"Good—" I stopped, for my voice sounded like sandpaper being rubbed on brass. I cleared my throat, twice, but the best I could manage was a croak. "Good morning."

"Heading to the shower, I suppose?"

"Yes."

She leaned closer to me. I lowered my head in shame. Of what I was shameful of, I could not say. It just felt like an overwhelming sense of _wrong_, like I'd done something so despicable that she would never forgive me ever again. I wasn't sure what made me feel so guilty and painful, but I thought it might be the way I'd treated her last night, when she'd told me to not drink.

She narrowed her nostrils.

"You stink," she said.

"Hence the shower…" I replied meekly.

"You smell like a tavern. A rather bad one at that."

Her scent was everywhere. She smelled of sleep and roses, of summer and other seasons. I wanted to breathe her in.

"I—I'm…"

She didn't wait for me to finish, but closed the gap and gave me a light kiss on my cracked lips. Startled, I gasped, and my head immediately throbbed so badly I groaned and slid down a little.

"Goodness, Matt," she said, breaking our kiss and holding my shoulders steady. Even in my current state, I still felt her soothing, icy hands on my bare skin, and it was good. "Are you alright?"

"I feel horrible," I confessed.

"Do you need help?"

"I can stand," I lied. "Just, some rest."

Right after I said that, my legs betrayed me and I slid down rest of the way onto the floor.

"Stand up, stand up," Kate said, using her hands on my shoulders to lift me. "You'll get your towel dirty."

I said nothing, for another bout of headache took over.

"Matt," she said. "You're really pale. And you're shivering. I can feel it through my hands."

I groaned and coughed. She took one of her hand and brushed away my own, which were holding my clean clothes against me. She put her palm on my left chest. I blushed, having her touch me bare-chested like this. I wondered what Miss Simpkins would say if she saw us. Kate was wearing a loose night gown, and I was hardly wearing anything. She would probably declare it as scandalous.

"Your heartbeat is fast," Kate announced after a second, sounding like a proper scientist. "And you're sticky. Very sticky." She examined the skin of my chest. "And there are little red marks, too. Matt, I think your bruises aren't healing."

"Maybe—ugh. Maybe they just showed up." I looked down, and sure enough, saw a few of the little red marks Kate was mentioning, along with my old bruises. Just then, she touched one of them and pressed a little. "Ow, ow, ow."

"Sorry," she said, taking her hands away. "Maybe they _did_ just show up. Hrm."

"None of them are bleeding… are they?"

"No." She got me to my feet, steadying me with her hand on my shoulder. "Turn around."

I did so slowly. She surveyed my back, touching the skin in places. I slumped forward, my forehead against the wall, feeling as if I was about to faint.

"Matt, you need a doctor," she finally said. She trailed icy fingers down my back. "Your back is also very sticky, but there are red scratch marks."

"I probably got them when I was strapped in the wing suit."

"No, these look truly like scratch marks." She turned me around again, and her light grey eyes looked worried. "Matt, how did these wounds happen? They're all over you!"

"Maybe an aerozoan," I said. I really wasn't in the mood for thinking.

She sighed. "They don't look serious, so I suppose it doesn't matter. How are you feeling besides those?"

"My head feels like it's about to split in half."

"That's much more normal. It tends to happen when you've had too much to drink." She looked at me sternly.

I averted her gaze. "I'm…"

"You're sorry, I know," she said, her face softening. "I thought about it after I stormed off, actually. It's not your fault to want to drink. I'd be pretty depressed too, if I were you. So I was being unfair to you, and I'm sorry as well."

I coughed. "That's a relief," I said. "Though I'm still sorry for the way I ignored you. I should've listened."

Despite me smelling like I bathed in whiskey and brandy and then got soaked in sweat, she still hugged me against her. In my nakedness, I was extra-aware of her bust against my chest. A night gown was a thin garment, and the corset beneath thinner still. I felt heat rush to my face.

—and to the place between my legs.

Hurriedly I pushed her away, and immediately another bolt of pain shot through my head. I barely let out a gasp before I collapsed forward, again into her arms. But I was no longer standing flush against her, and my embarrassing excitement wouldn't be felt. I just hoped she wouldn't think to look down, for there was still a very visible bulge in the towel, even through the restraint of my briefs — which were now uncomfortably tight.

"Matt!" she cried, thankfully focusing on my face and not my body. "Oh gosh. We need to get you to the shower, and then you have to go back to sleep. You also need to drink water."

"I'm not sure I can make it there alone," I admitted. "My head…"

"I'll help you," she said. "Come on." She looped one of my hand over her shoulder and hooked one of hers around my waist. "That's it. A step at a time. Make sure you don't drop your clothes."

"I feel sick," I said.

"I would prefer if you did not vomit right now," Kate said.

We made it to the bathroom safely after a long five or so minutes. Kate held the door open for me, and helped me kneel by the toilet. My sickness got ahold of me then, and I heaved my stomach's contents into the basin, noisily.

There was nothing really to heave, though, just stomach acid and bitter bile. The alcohol had been absorbed long ago. Still, as I got up on shaky legs, I felt minutely better. I wiped my mouth on the back of my hands.

"Thank you," I said gratefully. "Ugh."

"The sooner you get a shower and go back to sleep, the sooner you'll feel fine again."

She hooked her hands under my arms and lifted me up to my feet. "Gosh, you're light," she said.

"You shouldn't keep touching me like this," I said with a blush. "I stink."

She shrugged. "Clothes can be washed, people can be washed. I plan to take a shower after you, anyway."

I hung my clean clothes on the racks beside the shower stall. I smiled at her. "I'm glad you woke up when you did."

She looked mischievous and giddy, all of a sudden. "I am too," she said with a sly smile that made me blush, even though I didn't know why. "Do you need anything else? Alcohol makes you want to pee more often, I'm told. It's a diuretic drug."

"Oh." Now that she mentioned it, I felt it, a tightness behind my groins; a full bladder. But that reminded me of my still evident excitement, and I turned away, red-faced. "Uhm. Could you maybe leave?"

"Oh," Kate said, blushing as well. "Sorry. Of course, right away." She backed out of the bathroom with some haste. I locked the door behind her, unwrapped the towel, and started to strip off my underwear.

Judging by how my muscles moved, this was going to be a long shower.

ooo

The shower took a good thirty minutes, whereas it usually took less than half that time. I made sure to soap myself well — my hair, my face, my chest, my armpits, my stomach, and as much of my back as my sore arms allowed me to reach. I did not want any residual whiskey smell on me come breakfast time.

What needed cleaning the most, though, was the region between my legs, still hard. It had been a frustrating thing trying to pee while hard, without making a mess of the bathroom. It occurred to me while I was holding my shaft, though — it was, like the rest of my body, very sticky, except it was even stickier than places such as my chest or my stomach. I didn't know what was happening. At a glance everything looked fine enough, but I soon realized that the skin was sore and slightly red, and the entire shaft felt tender and very sensitive. I wondered if this were also the side effects of alcoholism. In the end, I just took extra care in washing and soaping myself there, feeling faintly dirty and not knowing why.

To my immense relief, my erection subsided as I finished showering. I dried and dressed myself as fast as my movements permitted, feeling much refreshed. The hot water seemed to loosen up some of the knots of my muscles, and though my hip still felt especially sore, I could walk by myself now.

I made much better time back to my cabin. The room stank, but not as bad as I'd thought. Someone had already opened the porthole to air things out. Maybe I had done it in my drunkenness, having at least that much sense to try to not inconvenience Dorje. I felt wretched for making our cabin into this foul smelling mess, and did my best to freshen it. I think Mrs. Ram said that there were extra bedsheets aboard, so I took mine down, and my blankets too, plus the pillow cases.

I did notice something interesting on the bed sheet, though; there had been a dull red patch of blood in the center when I took it down. I wondered what had made it — some wound of my back, probably. Perhaps Kate had been right, and I _was_ hurt more than I'd thought, though I didn't really feel pain beyond the bruises and my headache.

I bundled the pillow case and the blanket and the blood-stained bed sheet together, left them on my barren bed, and went to the dining room to find water, for I was parched. Before that, I knocked to let Kate know I was done with the shower. I told her I was sorry I'd taken so long, but she seemed to understand.

Big pitchers of water were set around the dining table as usual. I looked at the clock, and saw that it was just past seven. The others will be up soon. I poured myself a large glass, and drank deep and grateful.

And as I indulged myself in the second and third glass of water, I decided to myself that, in the future, no matter what happened to me…

_I would never be drunk again._


	5. Good Morning

**Author's Notes:**

**Please read and review, as always. Thank you. Sorry this has taken long to update; I knew what I wanted to write, but wanted to figure out the best way in my ability to put it down in words.**

* * *

I woke at half past six, and the very first thing I noticed was how tired I was. Despite waking up, my body still felt heavy. I was groggy. No, more than groggy — it was as if my sleep had done nothing. I wasn't sure if I could fall back to a slumber now, however, so I just blinked and yawned in my bed until I was sufficiently awake.

Which was when I noticed how lightheaded I was. I was caught halfway between a headache and nausea, though nothing too serious. Alcohol made your head hurt after, but I was good with alcohol, and it went easy on my body. I smelled stale and faintly sour, but I didn't smell drunk. With a grunt, I sat up in my bed.

Which was when I noticed was how sore I was.

My back was sore. My neck was sore. My limbs were sore. My bottom and my hips were beyond just sore. My hips, especially, could barely even move.

The very worst part of me, though, was between my legs. I wouldn't be able to describe the feeling to you even if I had wanted to; it was sore and enflamed and tender to the point of hurt, feeling raw and broken. It felt like something had torn me open and locked the muscles in place.

Which, when looking at it through a physical standpoint, was exactly what had happened.

As I memories of last night came rushing abruptly back, I felt my soreness and my pain, and smiled.

ooo

I spent fifteen minutes forcing myself to move, despite my body's painful protests. I moved my hips, slowly. And my arms and legs, and my neck. Gradually, as blood flowed to these parts of my body, the soreness subsided a little, and they got to be more flexible.

Inside of me, though, between my thighs, I still felt raw. But that was probably normal.

I blushed.

I had _slept_ with Matt Cruse.

He had been _inside_ me.

_This_ was proof.

For a moment, I thought back to the experience, like nothing women made it out to be. From what I'd known, it was supposed to be painful your first time, but as you might expect from someone so kind, Matt had been exceedingly gentle, even while he was drunk. I knew I had been wet, and in general, there hadn't been too much pain. What there _had been_, though, was pleasure. I wouldn't have expected pleasure, but there it was, quick to arise from deep within me like flame coaxed out from an ember. As early on as the first few thrusts, I could feel it, and when it had finally unleashed itself on my body, I had been blinded. I had been screaming, probably, and biting, and scratching, trying to hold Matt against me, deeper.

And Matt's pleasure, too. It was almost enough alone, to see him so open and unguarded, his honest handsome face grimace as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was the good kind of grimace. Feeling his body tremble, it had made me proud. I had made it happen to him. I had given him pleasure.

I wondered what would happen now. Between us, I mean. I felt the smile on my face wash away.

_What about Kate?_

I didn't entertain hopes of me supplanting her. I didn't even _want_ that. Kate was an admirable young lady, and it was clear she and Matt cared a lot about each other. I wondered if they had ever slept together. Matt _had_ seemed very proficient, though of course I had no means to compare. I thought about remaining on the sidelines, though, and jealousy gnawed on my heart. I didn't want to hurt Kate, but I wanted Matt, yet I didn't want to have to share him either.

I felt completely out of my depth, like aboard the _Hyperion_, where the sky was trying to turn my own body against me.

It would hurt, no matter what I ended up doing. That much was certain. I didn't have a lot of options, either. The Roma held purity in a very high regard; our culture despised girls who were no longer virgins before they married. Worse, the boy I'd been with was a gadjo, an outsider. I was already half-Roma by blood, and now there was no going back. Without the blueprints, there'll be hard times ahead.

I wanted to cry. Fear was growing in my heart and I wanted to keep it down, but it kept advancing. Yesterday had been hard enough, but add in last night, my life just got a whole lot more complicated.

In the end, I resigned to not think, and to just carry on as normal. Breakfast time was almost here, and I would need to grab another shower before I headed out to face everybody else. I hoped Hal hadn't recovered from his drinking yet. I didn't want him to sour up the mood on the ship again.

I got to the shower just in time to run into Kate de Vries herself, coming out of the bathroom in a loose blue dress, her hair still damp.

"Good morning," I said after a split second's pause.

An awkward feeling crept up on me, along with guilt. Looking at Kate now, I saw what Matt saw in her. She was spirited, outgoing, curious, and most of all, beautiful. If she had went on the little devilish machine on the _Hyperion_, her 'amativeness' would've been no less than a ten.

"Oh, good morning!" she said energetically. "I hope you haven't been waiting long?"

"No, I just got here."

"That's good."

We stood there looking at each other. This made me unsure of myself, because Kate was so overflowing with confidence all the time.

"So, I'll see you around at breakfast," I finally said, as I slipped past her and went in.

"Right," she said. "See you."

I closed the door and wanted to whack myself in the head.

ooo

Matt was in the dining room, looking out the windows. He was the only one there. His hair was stuck up in places, though you could see he'd made an effort to smooth them out. As I walked in, his blue eyes looked over and he smiled.

That was all it took for me to blush.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," I said.

If I'd expected something dramatic, like him hugging me or kissing me or asking if I was hurt, or making any mention of last night, I was sorely mistaken. His face remained remarkably calm. There was not even a tinge of red.

A simple 'good morning', and that was that.

I wasn't sure what to do. What did this mean? That he wanted to forget about last night? That he thought it was a mistake?

"Matt," I said.

He looked over once again. "Yes?"

What should I ask? There were so many questions. _Do you remember last night? Have you ever done that before? Do you regret it? What will happen to me? What will happen to us? Were you too drunk? Did you like me? _Do_ you like me? __**Do you love me?**_

"Nothing," I said, and sat down in a chair.

Breakfast was a reserved affair. Nobody ate much, and the chatter was even less. Hal was still abed, and Matt was apparently starting up his shifts as part of the crew again, now with Dorje acting as Hal's replacement and there being only three other crew members.

I kept wanting to steal time to talk to Matt, though I'd missed a perfect chance before breakfast. He was on crow's nest duty immediately after, and I wasn't sure he'd want me up there. I felt stuffed with words in my chest, wanting to explode. I wanted to know what he thought. I wanted to talk to him. Moreover, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to touch him again. I wanted to be close to him, to feel his warmth. The sensation of his skin on my fingers reemerged from my memory, and my face flushed.

I resigned myself to reading the same papers I've been reading for the past few days. Miss Simpkins finally woke up after breakfast was over, and it was the two of us who shared the lounge, for Kate was down in the cargo holds, inspecting the taxidermy we'd salvaged from the _Hyperion_. I found it ironic how the only person who got anything out of this expedition happened to be the richest one of us.

It was hard to not bear any ill will towards her, but I had to remind myself over and over that it was chance that allowed her to meet Matt earlier. Would our fates be different if I had met Matt before Kate had? I didn't know. I thought it would be, though. Matt and I were so similar in so many aspects. Our fathers had left us, by dying or deserting. Our families were modest. We worked hard to earn our places in this world. By rights we would get along better than a cabin boy and a rich girl.

Maybe.

I stopped myself from walking down that path. Thinking that way did me no good. I frowned and tried to think what my plans would be after we landed in Paris. The Moulin Rouge was an unsavory place, thought that may be all I had. I did not want to steal — I didn't want to make my living on the works of honest men, and I didn't want to fit into the 'Gypsy stereotype'.

It didn't work. I kept seeing Matt's smile whenever I closed my eyes. If this was what it felt like to be in love with someone, then I'd rather not be in love at all. The sweet part was sweet, but the doubts and the little jabs of jealousy and pain, those I could do without. Then again, I could see why people clung to it so desperately even while it was painful. To hold Matt in my arms, to feel his weight on top of me, to be wrapped in his warmth and his smiles. Those were what made love so great.

Sometime in midmorning, Hal finally woke up. He strode into the dining room looking miserable, and slumped down on one of the chairs. Then he drank an entire pitcher of water empty before some color finally returned to his grey cheeks.

He didn't talk to us, which was fine by me. All of us minded our own businesses in the lounge as lunch time approached. Mrs. Ram had told us that we'd all be having a later lunch than usual today. We were barely two day's journey from Paris; I can already see what a dreadfully long two days this was going to be.

I was on my third read-through of a thick slab of newspapers, when Mrs. Ram came into the lounge and gestured for me to come with her.

She looked oddly serious. Of course, she was usually serious when in her kitchen, but this was a different sort of seriousness. I thought that maybe she had discovered how I haven't been in bed for half of last night. She'd been asleep when I'd snuck back to our cabin, in the wee hours of the morning, and I'd been extremely careful to not wake her. Either way, I had an excuse; something as simple as 'I couldn't sleep, and spent the night in the lounge' should be enough.

I pushed my newspapers aside, stood up, and followed her through the kitchen, which had pots of stuff simmering on the stove. We went into a small back room which held all the _Saga_'s extra sails. It also held all the sky suits, and all sorts of linen, such as extra bedsheets and clothing. I must admit I didn't know much about airships, but even I knew that water was a precious commodity on board. Mrs. Ram washed the clothes and bedsheets using as little water as possible.

"What is it, Mrs. Ram?" I asked as we reached the end of the small back room and she finally turned around to face me. She was a small woman, and was barely to my shoulders, but as I watched her eyes look through my own, I had the uncomfortable feeling of facing a stern grandmother.

"Come here," she said, gesturing. "What's this?"

She pointed at one of the bedsheets hanging from the ceiling. It stank of alcohol, sweat, and some sour smell; I assumed it hadn't been washed yet.

At first I didn't know why she would point out a dirty bedsheet. What has this got to do with me?

And then I saw it.

In the middle of the sheet, amidst the whiteness, was a large drop of dull, rust-colored patch.

Blood.

Instantly I understood.

"You know what this is."

It wasn't a question. Meekly, I nodded. Virgins often bled when they lost their virginity.

I didn't want to look up. I was afraid of the judgment that might be in Mrs. Ram's eyes. My cheeks burned. In medieval times, a couple had to show the bloodied bedsheet after a wedding, as proof the marriage had been consummated. But this was the 20th century, Matt and I were not married, much less engaged, and _nobody was supposed to know_. The soreness between my legs came back with more pain.

"This is foolish," Mrs. Ram declared after a moment of silence. "You are foolish. You started this, no?"

I nodded again, hoping against hope that she wouldn't see me as some whorish hussy. I had no doubt that I appeared as such; technically, I barely knew Matt. We only met a little more than a week ago!

I could feel her piercing gaze. I didn't know what she would do. I closed my eyes, praying that she would keep this a secret, especially since Matt seemed to be having the same idea. If he thought it was best to act as if it never happened, then I would too.

"You made it," Mrs. Ram finally said, "so you help me clean it."

"Yes, of course," I said.

"And you help me with lunch."

"Yes."

"Look at me."

Slowly, I raised my eyes. Mrs. Ram's expression was kindly, if slightly disapproving. That was good. But there was also something else in her weathered face — a kind of sadness, I thought.

She turned away and led me to a large metal tank filled with water. She told me how to use sponges to gently soak the bedsheet without using too much water, and then she took out two large bars of soap and rubbed it into the sheet until white froth formed. She assigned me to wash the messiest parts; the blood, and the area around it. I put myself to work, cheeks still red, furiously scrubbing, eager to put the whole incident behind. Perhaps I saw the opportunity as a bit of a atonement for my so-called sins, and if not for my 'sins', at least for the trouble I've caused.

The stain was stubborn. I suppose I was lucky that it hadn't had time to completely dry and set it, or it'd be even harder to clean. As it was, though, it posed ample challenge. I scrubbed and sponged and rinsed, and slowly, bit by bit, the red leeched out from the white.

"He does not know what it is," said Mrs. Ram out of the blue. Kneeling on the ground, I was so startled I lost my balance, and fell onto the damp and soapy sheet.

"Uh, sorry, pardon?" I said as I spat out little bits of soap foam and pushed myself back up. Mrs. Ram did not laugh at my clumsy fall. She was staring at me severely.

"He does not know what this is," she said, gesturing to the faded red spot. "He thought it was from his wounds."

I didn't understand what she was saying, and my expression must've told her what I felt, so she sighed and said it again.

"You don't get it? He does not know this is your blood."

"Who… what? Whose blood does he think it was then?"

"He thought it was his own blood."

I scoffed. "That's ridiculous! Boys don't bleed when they… when they… uhm… for the first time."

For a second, I thought I saw a shadow of a smile on Mrs. Ram's face, probably for my embarrassed discomfort. "No, they don't," she agreed.

"So why does he think it was his blood?"

"He had a lot of wounds and bruises. You all did."

"Those should've scabbed over yesterday. Mine scabbed. Plus, all we got were scratches. No scratches bleed this much." The patch of blood on the sheet was two inches across; a considerable amount when you think about it.

Mrs. Ram shrugged. "He had no other explanation."

"What do you mean?"

She looked at me, and the strange glint I saw in her eyes earlier was back again.

"He does not know you were there, child," she said. "I think… he does not remember."


	6. It Never Has

**Author's Notes:**

**China = Cathay, for those of you who didn't know, and the misspelling of Vietnam was to make it appear like the same place in an alternate universe.**

**Conversation is a modified version based on the original one from the book: **_**Skybreaker **_**by Kenneth Oppel; paperback edition, pages 540~542.**

* * *

I went down to the cargo holds after breakfast, to take stock of what we actually salvaged. Marjorie, thankfully, decided to remain in the comforts of the lounge instead of watching me fiddle with dead things. If fossils and bones and the like scared her so much, maybe Matt and I should consider meeting in museums from now on.

I brushed the thought away, since kissing in museums would probably not be considered socially polite. The Saga's cargo holds were not even half full with all the taxidermy we'd brought. I wished that we could've gotten more; there was certainly room for it! If we'd had the time, I would've probably gotten Matt or Hal or Dorje to help me cut open the yeti, carve out its plaster stuffings (which would've been made very brittle due to the cold), and folded the skin into a box. That would definitely have fitted through the crow's nest hatch.

Either way, the bones would have to suffice. I wore a pair of pantaloons today (very un-ladylike, I know) especially for doing this, because it allowed me to simply sit down on the metal grated floor. I pulled out the box containing the yeti bones. The skull was stacked on the very top of it.

Everything was slightly stained with age. I imagined the creature's powerful muscles and sinews over these magnificent structures. A small, fractured hole was above the left eye-socket, in the brow ridge. I turned the skull and did not see another hole. The creature's bone was strong enough to stop a rifle shell from penetrating his head clean through. That was amazing.

I examined the rest. A centralized foramen magnum; that meant the yeti had evolved to stand on two legs. Set slightly farther back than a human skull, so he could probably move quickly on all fours, too. The sagittal crest was extremely pronounced, reaching in over an inch in some places. The only other primate species large enough to compare were the gorillas, but even they had no sagittal crest as large! The bite strength of a yeti must've been enormous. I jotted all this down in my notebook.

I wondered what it fed on. Some species of Himalayan goats would be a nice prey for it, one of those could probably sustain it for several days, or even a month. Canines dominated; it had eight canines, instead of the four in humans, and its molars were not as big as you'd expect for something this size. Its incisors were also sharp. I examined one and found that it had razor-like ridges, almost shark-like. An omnivore to be sure, but I think it preferred meat. I wish Grunel's men analyzed what the yeti's stomach held when they dissected him.

Something amazing revealed itself as I examined the teeth. I took down its jaws to get a better look, and there! Beneath its molars were two more molars, just beginning to develop.

I gasped. In human terms, this meant it had not gotten its wisdom teeth. The specimen was not even full grown! And it was already nine feet tall. I wondered how large the adults might be. Some cyptozoologists have speculated that the yeti might've been some surviving branch of the _Gigantopithecus_, a prehistoric ape that reached ten feet in height. That was very likely, now that I looked at it. All known fossils of the _Gigantopithecus_ came from the Orient — South Cathay, Vietnum, Malaya, and India. Perhaps the great apes were forced up into the Tibetan plateaus by increasing human settlement, and evolved into the species we call the yeti. All this was speculation, of course, but a very interesting theory nonetheless.

We had a late lunch today. Most of the crew members couldn't join us, since we needed more people to man the ship now that we were coming into more congested airways. I didn't know much about aviation, but even I knew that the skies over Antarctica were much less traversed compared to southern Pacificus skies. Matt, for one, was up in the crow's nest all through lunch time. I hoped his headache wouldn't be too bad to interfere with his lookout job. He was already blaming himself enough over the time when we crashed into the _Hyperion_, and now with this blueprint business, he would probably be inconsolable for a while if some sort of trouble happened on his watch. He _did_ seem a lot better after his shower this morning, though.

If there was one good thing that came out of the three reckless drinkers last night, it was that the _Saga_'s liquor stores have now been exhausted, and Hal could no longer be drunk even if he wanted to. He got to work in the afternoon, probably as an attempt to use labor to take his mind off his debt. I felt sorry for him, truly; he had the most to gain in this venture, but the most to lose, too.

After lunch I went back down to the cargo holds. Marjorie had been quite aghast when she'd heard that I'd just sat on the cargo hold floor without a sort of carpet or blanket or covering. Well, let her fuss; I was an expert in tuning her out. Plus, it wasn't as if anybody cared if pantaloons got dirty or not.

The yeti bones I'd finished cataloguing, so I moved on to the dodo stuffing. This one was small enough to take aboard, thankfully, although since it hadn't been an undiscovered species, I wasn't as interested in it as the yeti. Time passed fast, and before I knew it I'd filled out another 20 pages of my notebook.

I decided to save the quagga bones for later. I wanted to get back to my aerozoans. I stood up and stretched myself a bit, getting blood back into my feet and thighs after sitting cross-legged for so long.

Something caught my eye in the corner of the cargo bay. It was the machine that saved all our lives, Grunel's marvelous ornithopter, invented twenty years before its time.

Come to think of it, I hadn't given the machine much thought ever since we got back; I was so busy studying the aerozoan and organizing the smaller taxidermy we brought back. The yeti, the quagga, and the dodo were the three most valuable ones, but I'd still gotten a deal of other important specimens, and had spent yesterday writing notes about them.

I walked over to the machine, hanging by its trapeze, and gazed at it wonderingly. It was in no way inferior to modern-day ornithopters. The intricacies of its engines were unprecedented, and even today may meet few rivals. Grunel was considered the Godfather of Invention; no doubt he deserved the name. The most illustrious inventor today was probably Mr. Thomas Edison, who had invented the lightbulb and the phonograph, but many still considered Grunel to be the foremost inventor of all time, having revolutionized the industrial world before Edison turned twenty.

The Prometheus Engine was a living proof. Well, perhaps not living, but obviously if it had survived, it would've been the greatest invention of the 19th century, and perhaps of the entire millenium! What comforted me though, was the fact that it could be done. At least the science behind the machine was sound, and science doesn't disappear. Whatever chemical reaction made the Prometheus Engine viable, it could, and will be, rediscovered. In another ten or twenty years, mankind would not need any more aruba fuel.

In a sense, I suppose losing the blueprints hadn't really been such a big deal. I made a mental note to tell this to Matt. It would definitely cheer him up.

But of course there was still the small matter of the money. In my contract with Hal, I had agreed to pay for the charter and all costs in the event that we don't find the _Hyperion_. That was void now, since we _did_ find it — we just hadn't gotten anything monetary from it. Now, even if I'd wanted to, I probably couldn't offer to pay him; Hal didn't seem like the kind of person who'd take favorably to a donation. He might even see it as an insult.

I climbed into the cockpit of the ornithopter, heaving myself aboard. Bending down, I traced the lines of the pedals into the depth of the ornithopter head, until I could see no more. It was mind-boggling to imagine that, under a constant subzero temperature for an entire forty years, all these gears and meshes still worked. If any one small part had failed in our escape, all four of us would've be down in the Antarctic sea, with our life's last breath long escaped our lips.

I took out my notebook again, and started to draw the controls of the cockpit. The fact that I'd been able to figure out how these worked in the very limited time we had was nothing short of a miracle. For even now, warm and comfortable with a full stomach and a clear head, I found the controls daunting. I wish I had more time to study it, for in two days I'd be parted from it and…

"Oh!" I said aloud, as a flash of insight crossed my mind.

I could offer to buy the machine from Hal!

It was as if the skies cleared, and all the troubles could be solved. This was so simple. We could negotiate an extremely generous price; say, five times what a normal ornithopter would be sold for. Then at least he'd have a bit of money to compensate, and that way I could indirectly help Matt and Nadira too.

Footsteps made me turn to the door of the cargo bay. Matt walked in, looking a lot better than he had this morning.

"Oh, hello," I said. I couldn't wait to tell him my idea. "Done with your watch? What time is it?"

"Yes," he replied. "It's almost six in the evening."

"That late!" I'd worked without noticing the passage of time, yet again.

"I heard you've been down here since lunch."

"And I heard you haven't even _had_ lunch."

"Oh, don't worry about me," he said. "Nadira brought me something."

My eyes and nostrils must have narrowed because he quickly stammered on with a panicked expression on his face.

"It— it's not what you think. Nadira is just helping Mrs. Ram with chores around the ship for the day, and Mrs. Ram wanted her to bring lunch to everyone still on duty."

"If I catch you smooching up in the crow's nest again…"

He only blushed and managed to look sheepish. I decided to let him off the hook for now.

"Anyhow, why is Nadira helping Mrs. Ram?"

He shrugged. "She said it had something to do with a bedsheet. I didn't really pay attention."

"How is your headache?"

"Oh, much better. Thank you for helping me this morning." He gave me one of those genuine smiles of his, the kind that made me fall for him in the first place. "And, um, I'm sorry you had to see me like that. I… I hope you weren't, disgusted or repulsed or anything."

I cocked an eyebrow at him, suppressing a smirk. "Disgusted or repulsed? Why would I ever be?"

He looked down and another blush formed on his cheeks. "I was… inappropriately dressed."

I smiled as I remembered how he'd been dressed this morning during our meeting in the hallway. Personally, for me, it was actually very exciting to see him with his shirt off. I liked how streamlined his body looked, and how smooth his muscles were. There was something about his slender frame that made it absolutely alluring. I wondered what his reaction would be if I told him that, though. Sadly, he'd probably think I were making fun of his physique, so I let the matter drop.

"It doesn't bother me, don't worry," I said breezily, to reassure him. "That said, this really is an amazing machine, you know. I don't think Hal appreciates it."

He looked relieved by the change of topic, from his nakedness (his _attractive_ nakedness, mind) back to Grunel's ornithopter.

"Oh, of course," he said. "Although, I don't blame him. If I were in his place, I wouldn't be thinking about anything else besides the _Saga_."

"Well, you know, he might be able to sell the design to someone."

Matt shook his head. "I don't think the pedal idea will catch on," he said. "It was no easy thing, keeping it aloft."

"It did feel heavy," I admitted, remembering how hard we'd all had to pedal in the last few stretches of our almost impossible escape. I imagined what would've happened if our strengths had flagged, and shuddered. "But if he'll let me, I'd like to buy it. I'd give him an excellent price, and then at least he'd have something to split between you all."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that," Matt said. "It's very kind of you."

"Not at all. I feel quite attached to it."

"It saved our lives; with you at the helm anyway." He managed to grin, and I was glad that he seemed to be recovering from this little bout of self-depreciation he's been in for the past two days. I much preferred this Matt, the Matt who grinned, and not the Matt who sulked in his cabin, blaming everything on himself.

"Listen, Matt, those things Hal said about you — you mustn't listen to him. He's being hateful."

"If it were my ship, I'd probably be as spiteful. I have no grudge against him, really."

"And you mustn't listen to yourself, either. The whole thing wasn't your fault."

He sighed. Quickly, I explained to him about my theory of how, in a couple of years, the Prometheus Engine would be discovered anew by another brilliant scientist all the same.

He didn't look convinced.

"It's been forty years since the completion of the machine," he said. "And no one today has even had the notion to do this."

"Ah," I said, "but you're forgetting something. People now don't really know about the aerozoans, do they? If you did a detailed study of their anatomy, as Grunel did, I'm sure you could build another Prometheus Engine as easy as a snap of the finger."

"Well, perhaps you're right," he finally conceded.

"I _know_ I'm right. The point is, don't let it get you down. I'll do whatever I can to help Hal. You, on the other hand, just need to stop blaming yourself."

"Alright, alright. I'll try."

I suddenly remembered something he'd asked earlier. In the midst of all the chaos, I'd forgotten to give him my answer.

"You asked me a question a while back," I said. "And I'd like to give you my answer."

It took him a few seconds to remember. "Oh. 'Am I better wealthy?' I don't think you need to answer that anymore."

I couldn't tell if his tone was sad, or indifferent, or a little mix of both.

"Nevertheless, it still seems an important question to me," I insisted.

"You have the answer?" he asked.

"Yes. Well, no. Because it's completely up to you."

"Is it? Just say you had to choose. The rich or poor Matt Cruse." I could tell he was half-dreading my answer. His expression was the kind you'd make when you're anxious but not wanting to show it.

I looked straight into his clear blue eyes, and smiled.

"It doesn't matter to me in the slightest," I said. "It never has."

"Really?" he asked, a little disbelieving. I held his questioning gaze with all the sincerity I could muster. It was hard to imagine a more humble situation than Matt's, but I would love him regardless of his pocket. It was his kindness, his passion about flight, his free spirit, and his sense of hope and innocent wonder that I loved. Back on the Jewels Verne, when we'd shared our very passionate kiss, I'd teased him a little about marriage. I didn't intend to marry for at _least_ a very long while, but looking at Matt, I realized that, if I were to spend the rest of my life with someone, the boy in front of my eyes was the one and only husband I would ever have.

My eyes were all the confirmation he needed. A small smile crept across his face. A small, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. But then his face fell a little.

"But it matters to other people," he said. "It matters to me. More than I'd care to admit, and that's a fact."

He seemed tormented yet again. I couldn't deny that money was important, if silly. Divisions were silly, but they still existed.

"That's important to know," I could only say in the end.

"Hal thinks I'm destined to be a chauffeur," he said, a spark of worry in his tone. "Does that repel you?"

"Not at all!" I said. "It's always best to be in the driver's seat, isn't it?"

Unexpectedly, beautifully, he laughed. The laughter warmed me and lifted me, and made me realize how much Matt's mood had been affecting my own. To see him happy was happiness itself. I couldn't help but grin back.

"Although, right now, _I_ appear to be in the driver's seat," I joked.

"You certainly are!"

"Well, climb aboard!" I said, grabbed by a sudden giddiness. "And tell me where you'd like to go."

He smiled again, and quickly found a foothold to use to heave himself up. Just as his head was clearing the cockpit walls, however, a loud bang made me jump, and with a thud he slipped back down to the hangar floor.

I peered over the cockpit, worried he'd hurt himself.

"Are you all right?"

A slit seemed to have opened down the side of the ornithopter. As I watched, he squinted into what appeared like a small compartment, brows furrowed.

"It's some kind of cargo hatch," he said, and reached his hand inside. With two dull thunks, he pulled out two white objects. "They're pillow cases," he said to me.

"What's inside?" I asked, curious. He opened one, and his eyes widened.

"It's gold."

"No, really. What's inside?"

He grinned wide, and with a grunt, heaved the sack up for me to see.

In the whiteness of the pillow case, almost lustrous against the pale hangar lights, glowed the mesmerizing yellow of what must be at least a dozen gold bricks. That must've weighed one or two hundred pounds!

"Oh, my goodness!" I exclaimed. "No wonder the ship felt heavy!"

"Hendrickson," said Matt, confirming my guess. "That little sneak! Grunel's manservant filched some gold, and tried to make off with it!"

"Wait, where did he get it though?" I asked as I got up to climb out of the cockpit.

This was the gold all of us spent so long looking for! A portion of it was inside our ornithopter all this time, but where was the rest?

Matt quickly told me about how it had been in the secret passage we'd unwittingly discovered.

"How many bricks are there?" I asked.

I helped him dump the bricks on the floor, and we counted them. There were forty.

"That means," said Matt, quickly doing the math, "thirty-two for Hal, and four each for Nadira and me." His face was flushed and his eyes were almost shining. "That's enough for Hal to fix the _Saga_ and get out of debt."

"And it's a very nice windfall for you and Nadira," I said, feeling my own face flush, infected by his excitement. "You won't be the richest young man in Paris, but you certainly won't be the poorest."

"I don't think I'll mind that at all," he said.

We just stood there, looking at each other. He took my hand in his own, and the sudden touch felt closer than kissing. Looking into his clear blue eyes, I felt more connected to him than I ever have before, this boy with his sky-colored eyes and gentle smile, who somehow managed to make his way into my heart. And our gaze locked like two magnets, like a current, a spark of electricity, only stronger. Together, we could've powered Paris. His eyes and his face were warm and true and honest, and I thought I could never love someone half as much as I loved him.

Our hearts linked, and we were one.

* * *

**Phew, this chapter is a much longer chapter than all the others so far. I'm not sure if future chapters will be as long, but this one was long mainly because I didn't feel it was right to separate such an important scene into two parts. Enjoy and review :)**


	7. Remember

**Author's Notes:**

**I had trouble with this chapter mainly because I felt very weird writing about Nadira's girly thoughts, because she really doesn't seem like the kind to have any, well, pink girly thoughts about a boy. It was difficult to balance. There's also the small matter of the big reveal to consider in the future; that's going to be hard to write as well.**

**But alas, we must first pass through the fires of pain before we arrive in the sweet lands of smut! Except I'm beginning to think I might never get that far… :(**

* * *

I tried to wrap my head around what Mrs. Ram just said. "How? How… how did you know?"

"He brought the sheet to me this morning," she said.

I felt utterly stupid. Of _course_ this was the case! I'd thought before that Mrs. Ram had went into Matt's cabin and taken down the dirty sheet, but there was no way Matt wouldn't have noticed such a big bloodstain. And normally, if he hadn't wanted people to know, he would've hidden the sheet by himself. That he took it to Mrs. Ram meant one thing: he didn't know where the bloodstain had come from.

"But, how… that's not possible!"

"He was very drunk," she said.

"Well, wait, then how did _you_ know?"

I could feel my temper rising. I clamped it down.

"I knew you hadn't come back last night," Mrs. Ram said with another disapproving look. "And I knew you were tending to him."

I was about to ask how she knew that, but remembered Dorje passing us.

"I also knew about your feelings for him. When he came to give me the sheet, I saw bruises on his neck. With the blood, anyone can guess."

I gaped at her. I had no idea my feelings were so transparent.

"This is a very foolish thing to do," she continued. "You are too young."

"No," I said indignantly. "I was supposed to marry if I were back home."

But then again, it wouldn't have been Matt on top of me last night. It'd be some other man, a fellow with very bad teeth. The thought made me feel sick. I couldn't imagine doing what I did last night with anybody other than Matt, least of all a man old enough to be my grandfather.

"You're not together," she pointed out. "This may be fine in couples who…" she paused, searching for a word. "Who are seeing each other, or who made promises, or who are engaged; but you are none of this."

Her words stung, as true as they were.

"Do you think less of me because I did this?"

Mrs. Ram laughed. "No, child. Our cultures may be different, but even in Tibet women know what it's like to be young and in love. It's a foolish thing to do, but we've all been foolish once."

I looked at her gratefully.

"But now, the important thing to do is clean."

"Yes, of course," I said, and got back to work.

As I scrubbed away at the bloodstain, Mrs. Ram lectured me on why it had been a bad idea to sleep with Matt. I agreed with all her reasons, although I thought if I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have changed a thing. Perhaps I'd try to get less drunk so I'd remember it more.

After I was done with the sheet, the bloodstain was a pale pink spot. Mrs. Ram declared it perfect timing; her stew and curry had finished steaming, and we would have lunch. She told me to sponge the sheet again with water, get rid of as much soap as possible, and then soak the whole thing in a tiny bucket of water. I swirled it around some, marveling at how little water it took to clean.

Most of the crew were absent in lunch. Ms. Simpkins looked ravenous (since she hadn't had breakfast), but still ate in dainty little bites. Hal was at the helm, Dorje was sleeping because he'd had a night watch. Jangbu was also on the bridge, along with Ang, who must've slept some time during the night. Matt was in the crow's nest. The Saga was a small ship, and it took a small crew to run, but yesterday, without Matt or Hal, the Sherpas must've had a rough time managing things.

If the crew were absent, then Kate was absent-minded. She chewed mechanically, looking like she was deep in thought. Probably worrying about her unfinished notes or thinking about the discoveries she'd made this morning down with her taxidermy. I couldn't help but look at Mrs. Ram; all she needed to do was tell Kate, and I would be over my head in a deep, nasty mess.

Fortunately she seemed to have no ideas of that sort. We went our separate ways after lunch, and Mrs. Ram called me into the kitchen yet again.

She spooned up four large bowls of stew and four large bowls of rice. Then she blanketed the rice with curry, and put all the bowls on a tray.

"Go take these to the bridge," she said. "Normally I do it, but today you do it."

I nodded obediently and took the tray. It was heavy, and I was glad that the stew was thick, and that the tray had small bowl-shaped slots on its surface, so things didn't slosh around so much. Amazingly, I didn't have a single drop of stew spill when I got to the bridge.

Hal turned, took a glance, and sneered. "Ah, the gypsy princess." And then, as an afterthought, "But thanks for the food."

"Just leave the tray on the navigator's table, thank you Nadira," said Jangbu.

I did as I was told. Ang smiled at me as I passed his post on the rudder wheels.

"Did you have trouble getting Matt to bed?" he asked amiably.

I blushed with embarrassment and fury both, thinking that, _No! All the Sherpas know!_

But then Ang continued. "Dorje certainly had some trouble getting Hal to bed. Hopefully Matt was better and didn't resist too much. He's much more of a gentleman."

Jangbu chuckled and Hal growled. "Gentleman? Gentle _boy_, more like. Blasted, irresponsible little…"

I was glad he didn't finish his sentence. It seems it would take more than a night of drunken fellowship for Hal to forgive Matt, if ever. All the same, I let out a sigh of relief. They didn't know after all.

"No, Matt didn't give me trouble," I said, smiling. "He fell asleep fast."

I figured a white lie wouldn't hurt anyone.

"Well, thank you for the food," Ang said. "Be careful when you take these up."

"Huh?" I said.

"Aren't you going to take some up to Matt?"

"Oh," I said. "Right."

I felt like an idiot. I'd forgotten about Matt; not his person, but that he was also on duty and Mrs. Ram had also prepared food for him. There were four lunches, and three people on the bridge. I guess I'd not considered Matt a part of everyone else; I'd been thinking about him the whole morning as the boy I was in love with, so maybe for some reason my mind didn't consider him as a crew member.

I carried out the tray with the remaining two bowls meant for Matt. The climb to the crow's nest was tricky, but foolishly I thought I'd manage. After I started up, though, I realized that to not spill anything was nearly impossible, so every movement I made was painfully slow. It ended up taking five minutes for me to go up just halfway, and by then the clangs and bangs had continued for so long that Matt stuck his head down the ladder shaft for a look.

"Nadira," he said, surprised.

I looked up. He looked like he wasn't sure if it was okay to laugh or not.

"Hello Matt," I said casually.

He decided not to laugh. "Do you need a hand?"

"That would be most appreciated, thank you."

We looked at each other, and both realized that, for him to help, I would have to get back down to the ground again.

"Do you have room to move a little bit over?" he asked.

I managed to carefully move over to the side, so a small space could be cleared.

"Alright Nadira," Matt said. "Be careful — don't move."

Nimbly, he lowered himself and started to climb down the ladder. He reached where I was in no time. The ladder was not wide, but we were both skinny, so it was wide enough. I held the lunch tray out at an awkward angle, afraid I might drop it the next second. Our shoulders were touching in the narrow space, and so were our hips and thighs. I could smell his hair, the same refreshing smell as his person.

"Why are you delivering the lunch today?" he asked as he leveled himself with me. We were really close. I turned, and it startled me how close his face was. I could make out every detail of his skin. His eyes were on my tray and my arms, trying to figure out a way to get me out of this mess, but my eyes were on him. His nose, his cheeks, his eyelashes. His eyes. His expression when thinking.

Without warning, he looked at my face and our eyes met. I was so surprised my grip on the tray loosened for a moment.

"Oh!" he said as one of his hand shot out just in time to hold up the bottom of the tray, and then he sighed with relief. "I saved my lunch."

"Ah!" I said, just realizing what had almost happened. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said, and looked at me again, and smiled. Our close distance didn't seem to be affecting him at all. I could feel wave after wave of blood rush to my cheeks. "Let's see… wait one second please…"

He shifted a bit. He pressed closer to me. His legs did some maneuvering and suddenly, his other hand came free, but his body remained completely in balance. He looked as if he'd done this a thousand times, and was just born to move on a ladder on a ship.

"And… good. I've got it now, Nadira. You can let go." He pointed his chin at the tray.

"Huh? Oh. Right, of course." I let go of the tray.

"Usually Mrs. Ram leaves it on the floor and calls up for me to come down and get it," he said. "I'm sorry she didn't tell you to do that. I hope this wasn't too troublesome for you."

"No, no, absolutely not. I uh, volunteered to help her. For today."

"Why?"

"Because of you and your bedsheet!" I blurted out recklessly, but he wasn't listening.

"Alright," he said as he adjusted himself again, and brought the tray over my head to his side of the ladder. He held it with one hand now, and grabbed the ladder rung once again. He twisted sideways.

"Be careful," he told me. Then, as quickly as he had came down, he went back up to the crow's nest, his movements not at all slowed from the tray. Not one bit of stew splashed out. The whole thing had taken about a minute. I stared in awe.

I heard him moving the tray around and finally the noise of it being put on the floor. I couldn't stop myself; my hands and feet took me higher until my head was just under the platform.

Matt was standing now. He had a bowl in his hands, and was spooning in mouthfuls of curried rice as his eyes kept to the sky, scanning. I had a feeling he'd eaten while on duty many times. Only now did I have time to study him. His hair was almost black under the sun, so darkly brown it was, and the sky today was the color of his eyes. Or the other way around, I didn't care.

He must've heard my footsteps. He looked down and smiled again, this time apologetically.

"I'm so sorry," he said as I climbed the rest of the way to the platform. "I forgot to say thank you. Thank you for bringing lunch. Tell Mrs. Ram too."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what I was supposed to do. I mumbled an incoherent answer.

In my mind's eye, I could see his expression; his expression from last night. On this very same face, this open and friendly but distant face, I remembered the intimacy, the bliss, the love, the closeness. My heart twisted in pain. I wanted to go up and kiss him. I wanted him close to me. I wanted to make him mine. His current expression, though, was one of curious confusion.

"Um, is there something else?" he asked hesitantly. He was probably wondering why I came up even after the food was delivered.

The intensity of my gaze had no doubt made him uncomfortable, because he fidgeted.

I still didn't know what to say. He turned back to watching the sky, and there was an awkwardness in the air between us. I wanted him to suddenly remember everything, and kiss me passionately in his fierce embrace. In reality, we were standing as far apart as the crow's nest allowed. He was too polite to ask me to leave.

"You're not still blaming everyone on yourself, are you?" I asked finally.

"Oh, no, not at all. Well, I mean, I know I did the best I could under the circumstance. I think I'll always blame myself for forgetting, but not as much as before." He paused. "Thank you for thinking of me."

"How is your head?"

"My head?"

"Well, I had a headache this morning. Did you?"

"Oh, yes. It was quite bad. But I'm alright now. What about you?"

"I'm fine. Um, does it…" I paused. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

He blinked, and finally looked at me. "Hurt?"

"Your back, your shoulders maybe, your…"

I trailed off. He wore a loosely collared shirt today, and a nice chunk of his neck and collar bones was visible. There, in the niche where his neck met his shoulders, where I had licked and bit him, was a small, red mark. I imagined I could see the shape of the actual teeth, imprinted on his skin. My teeth.

The mark made me feel both sorry and triumphant. It was as if I'd marked him as my own, and now nobody may touch him the same way I had. This must be what Mrs. Ram had seen; what had given away the secret.

"Matt," I said urgently. "I need to ask you a question."

"Sure. What is it?"

"That bruise on your neck."

His hand went down to the red mark. "This one?"

"Yes. How did that happen?"

"Well, I'm not sure," he confessed. "I think… I think it was there when we came back from the _Saga_. But it looks new. Mrs. Ram asked a lot of questions about it. Which reminds me! I also need to thank you. For what you did, last night."

"What I did?"

"Yeah, Dorje told me that you got me back to the cabin. Thank you so much."

My heart sank.

"Do you even remember any of that?" I asked.

He scratched his head and frowned. "Bits and pieces. Not really. Why do you ask?"

I had to force a smile on myself.

"Oh, no reason in particular. I'm just glad you recovered."

"I hope I wasn't too troublesome last night."

_Besides the fact that you were the first boy I've slept with, and the fact that you seemed to have forgotten this?_

"Of course not. Not at all," I said.

"How long were you with me?" he looked sheepish again. "I'm still sorry about getting drunk like that."

Should I tell the truth? I was with him the whole night?

"Maybe an hour, or two," I said.

"Was Kate there at all?"

I gulped. I knew what this was. I avoided the question.

"Why?" I asked. "Did you remember her being there?"

"I sort of do," he said. "I remember saying a lot of gibberish to her. About how worthless I was, and all that." He smiled, a little embarrassed. "Maybe it was just a drunken dream. I hope I didn't actually say that."

"Do you remember what happened afterward?" I asked. I stared at him, willing him to say yes.

He blushed then.

"Uh, no. I don't think so." And then he blushed harder, until his cheeks were practically on fire. He coughed and looked out of the window.

He remembered.

_He remembered!_

It might not be all of it. It might not even be me he remembered. But he _remembered_. He wouldn't blush otherwise, would he?

"What happened?" I pressed on, eager and afraid, bolstered by his discomfort.

"No-nothing," he said, clearly flustered. "Just… bits and pieces. Of a stupid dream. You really should go down now."

"Was the dream with me? Or Kate? Matt, look at me. Was it with me or Kate? Me or Kate?"

The ferocity in my voice must've startled him into answering, but a moment later he rebounded.

"Both of y… wait! What is my dream to you?" he asked, a little angry. "It was an embarrassing dream. It's not your business." His blush hadn't gone away, and he made a point of refusing to look at me.

"Both of us?"

"I… I'm sorry. It's stupid. It's embarrassing to think about."

"_Both of us?_" I stepped up. "Answer me. Both of us?"

He finally exploded.

"Can't you respect my privacy?" he said, heated and annoyed. "I don't want to think about it! Can't you see that it embarrasses me to think about it? Why are you so interested in my dream anyway?"

His blue eyes glaring at me snapped me out of my over-aggressive self. I backed away, instantly contrite.

"I—I'm sorry," I said. "Matt, I'm very sorry. I don't know what has gotten into me. Really, I'm… I don't…"

It was as if he realized what he'd just done also.

"Oh. Um, so am I. Sorry, Nadira, the yelling was uncalled-for."

We mumbled apologies to each other, and then I practically leapt down the ladder, and fled.

He remembered it. He remembered it as a dream.

A dream with me… and Kate.


	8. Gold, Dance, and Words

**Author's Notes:**

**I felt sorry for Matt and Kate for putting in such a nasty twist at a happy moment, but oh well. Enjoy and review, as always.**

* * *

We decided to announce it at dinner. I lugged in the heavy pillowcase, feeling not at all burdened. This was a sweet kind of burden, the kind that could change lives. I wanted to see Hal's face. I wanted to see Nadira's. I was almost bursting with excitement.

"What do you plan on doing with your share?" Kate asked. "Are you _sure_ you don't need a hand?"

"I'm grand, really," I reassured her. I wanted to be the one to carry the gold in; somehow that felt like atoning for a sin. "And, I want to buy a new uniform."

Kate smiled. "That's about a percent of a percent of your share."

I smiled back. "I'll have to find a way to spend the other ninety-nine point nine-nine percent, then. To be honest, I don't know. I've never had so much money in my life before."

"Not even last year? With the Sky Guard's reward money?"

"No, not even last year. In fact, I don't think my family ever had this much either." I glanced at her, worried she wouldn't understand. Her father probably made more money in a day than a cabin boy and a seamstress did in a year.

Fortunately she seemed to understand, or at least pretended to. I wondered if she would ever understand; but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she accepted me for who I was, not how much I was worth. That was enough. That was everything.

I slung the sack over my shoulder to free my right hand, and reached down to grab her left. The gold was much heavier to hold with just one hand, but I liked Kate's warmth, and how she squeezed my fingers. We smiled at each other, and the sheer connectedness we felt back at the hangar was back, and not a word was needed.

Nadira was in the lounge when we got there. Her eyes quickly scanned us, lingered a little on our held hands, before going to the pillowcase. I blushed for some reason, but I wouldn't let go. Let her look. Maybe on other nights I'd be too embarrassed to hold hands in public, but this was the _Saga_, we'd just discovered a whole lot of gold, and Matt Cruse was all the same, rich or poor.

"What is that?" Nadira finally asked.

"A pillowcase," Kate said cheerfully.

"Yes, but what's inside?" Nadira asked, like she was talking to a particularly stupid toddler.

"Something wonderful," Kate replied with a wink. "Now, let's get dinner first."

Nadira looked fed up and annoyed. She turned to me.

"Matt, what's inside?"

"I'll tell everyone at dinner," I said.

"It's not more dead animals and bones you found, is it?" she said drily. "Some other 'rare' species that you discovered in all that junk we brought back?"

Kate looked indignant, but didn't say anything. We headed to the dining room to sit down, because it was pretty clear Nadira didn't want us there.

"Someone certainly soured her mood today," Kate whispered. We sat at our usual seat, and I put the sack on the floor between us. We still held hands.

"It might have been me," I admitted, a little glum. "At least, part of the reason."

"You? But you've been on duty the whole day."

"When she came to deliver lunch, we… well, she started asking weird questions. I got angry at her and raised my voice."

"Weird questions?"

I blushed, remembering what Nadira had asked.

"She wanted to know what I dreamed about last night," I mumbled.

Kate looked amused. "What has your dream got to do with her?"

"I don't know. She was very insistent."

"Well, what _did_ you dream about?"

It had been a hazy dream. I'd been in a dark place, aloft somewhere; it felt like a tropical storm cloud, so heated and electric and humid it was. Voices and murmurs and moans and pantings, these sounds permeated the air, and there was the sensation of supple… softness, against every inch of me. It was Kate's voice most of the time, but I remembered hearing Nadira whisper my name in a breathy moan. Then there had been heat and tightness and unbelievable wetness, and the dream shifted. I thought I remembered feeling myself in bed, and seeing Kate… close. Very close to me. That was the embarrassing part. I remembered kissing her, and then her face would shift into Nadira's, and back. I could see her expression in my mind's eye, a lovely expression of longing and pleasure. I remembered movement, too.

And then the dream had turned dark, before a blinding sense of sharp… pleasure, this feeling of wholeness and goodness, drove itself into my head. It was as if the storm clouds both intensified and cleared simultaneously, and then, after everything had calmed, I was left alone in a vast sky that was both parts storm and sun, feeling disoriented, satisfied, happy, and unhappy all at once. It was funny; even though I'd been dreaming, I remembered feeling a deep sense of fatigue overcoming me, and my world turned into blissful darkness, as if I'd fallen asleep within a dream. I didn't remember anything after that.

"Well?" Kate asked again. This jerked me out of my trance, and I realized I'd just been thinking about my dream for the past few minutes.

I coughed. There was no way I could tell this to Kate. She'd think I was insane. I didn't fancy bringing up the part about her face shifting into Nadira's, either. I had no idea why that happened, though felt guilty about it.

"Uh," I said. "It's… It's an embarrassing dream."

She looked intrigued. "How so?"

"I don't think you'd find it making any sense."

"Dreams often make no sense. Tell me."

"I… I'd rather not."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me embarrassed."

"But _why?_ I promise I won't laugh."

"Let's just talk about something else."

"Matt Cruse," she said, narrowing her nostrils. "What did you dream about last night?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "You see! This is _exactly_ what got me and Nadira to argue in the first place."

She tried to keep up her stern face, but couldn't do it, and laughed also.

"I'm sorry," she said, squeezing my hand. "You just make it sound like such a mystery."

"It was a very stupid dream," I assured her.

"Was it now?"

"Absolutely. You wouldn't want to know about it."

"Then surely it won't embarrass you?"

I sighed. "You're persistent, aren't you?"

"I'm nothing if not persistent, Mr. Cruse," she said, and kissed me.

Unfortunately for us, Miss Simpkins decided to walk in at that moment.

"Kate!" shrieked the chaperone after a stunned moment of silence, sounding like she was at the crime scene of a brutal assault and murder. "You shameful little… back away from her this _instant!_"

We broke apart rather hastily, a blush on both of our cheeks.

"No need to scream, Marjorie," Kate said after clearing her throat. "It's just a kiss, that's all."

"Just a kiss? _Just a kiss?_ Oh, you've ruined your entire future!" wailed the chaperone. "A boy with no prospects! What would your mother say?"

"She wouldn't know, would she?" Kate said with a sweet smile and suddenly very narrow nostrils. "Plus, it's not like you didn't know about us. Stop being overdramatic, or the first thing I do once we're back in Paris is to write a telegram to Mummy. And I'll be _sure_ to mention Paul this time, hmm? As a matter of fact, why not tell Mummy about Mr. Slater also?"

Paul must be this mysterious 'bounder' Miss Simpkins fancied, her Parisian beau. The effect Kate's threat had on Miss Simpkins was quite profound — she quieted down, hemmed and hawed, and shot us a baleful, tragic look, like she was forced and bullied as a slave would be. Then she gave an indignant little cry, and sat as far away from us as she could. Kate gave me a wink.

Everyone else who wasn't on duty soon filed into the dining room. Hal glanced at me, and it seemed to annoy him that I was in such visible good spirits, for he scowled. _Well, just you wait,_ I thought smugly. _Let's see if you could scowl by the end of tonight_.

Nadira shuffled in from the adjoining lounge. Her face was blank. I didn't know if I really had made her feel bad by losing my temper this afternoon, but I was sure the gold would be more than enough to fix everything. I gave her a smile, trying to look apologetic.

She gave me a glance, frowned, and quickly looked away. '_Don't smile at me like that,_' she seemed to say.

"Yup, I think it was definitely you," Kate whispered with an amused twinkle in her eyes.

"Probably," I agreed. "Let's hope the gold would be enough as an apology. I'm going to get the dishes."

"Do you want help?"

"Why not?" I said. "It's your discovery too."

She smiled and we got up to get our dinner. Of course, I was all too happy to accept when she offered to serve Miss Simpkins and Hal.

Once everyone had food in front of them, I asked Mrs. Ram to come join us. She picked a seat next to Nadira.

Kate stayed standing, at the head of the table. I went to our seat and got the pillow case, then joined her up front. We cleared our throats, and looked at everyone.

They looked back at us, confused.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Kami asked.

"What is going on?" asked Dorje. "Matt?"

"They'll be announcing their engagement is what it is," Hal snorted dismissively. "Pah. Sweethearts."

Miss Simpkins, who was drinking water, spat it out in a very unceremonious manner and started coughing. Dorje looked at Hal disapprovingly. Kami smirked at us. We both blushed, though I blushed much harder.

"You are very red; looks like you have a fever," Mrs. Ram said to me, looking amused. She glanced at Nadira, who could not look less amused. The girl's coal-black pupils met mine for a second, and I felt a sudden, piercing jolt at how much emotion were in her gaze. She looked down. I thought she was going to cry.

Kate didn't notice. I didn't want her to notice, for some reason.

"Very funny, Hal," she said after she controlled her blush. "I have no intention of marrying anyone just now." Her eyes looked over and I could almost hear her voice, finishing the rest of the sentence in my head: _'least of all a wretch like you'_. I smiled at the memory, and she gave me a small smile back.

"We're doing this because, well, we've discovered something that we think all of you should know," she continued. "We wanted to make this announcement at dinner."

"Not some more dead animals, is it?" Hal said. "That zebra horse thing and the turkey ought to be enough."

"No, Hal," Kate said coolly. "You'll see."

With a grunt, I heaved the pillowcase up onto the table. After a dramatic pause, I slowly loosened the knot of the sac, and tilted it over gently. With a melodic thunk, bricks of gold tumbled out onto the tabletop.

We looked at all the astonished faces of everyone onboard. Kate and I looked at each other, and we could both see the grin hidden at the corner of our lips. This felt amazing. I don't think I would ever forget the looks of everyone here.

"I'm dreaming," declared Hal. "My mind is cruel! I hope I forget this when I wake up. It will drive me mad."

"It's not a dream," Kate said, laughing a little. Miss Simpkins had stopped coughing, and was gaping.

I looked closely at Nadira. To my surprise, she didn't look as happy as I imagined her to be. Of course she looked happy, but not truly. It was as if something still bothered her. I thought maybe she, like Hal, was also trying to wrap her head around this sudden discovery.

"… How?" asked Dorje.

Kate quickly filled everyone in about Grunel's manservant, and the hidden compartment in the ornithopter. They stared on in disbelief and amazement, all throughout our story.

"There are forty bricks," I told them. "Thirty-two for you, Hal."

Dorje was smiling now, clapping his friend and captain on the back. "Enough to clear your debt, fix the _Saga_, and pay our wages," he teased with a good-mannered grin. "With a lot left over, too."

"Does this mean four bricks for the both of us?" Nadira asked. I nodded. She slumped back into her chair, eyes staring up at the ceiling. "I suppose I have to make a new plan."

"No more Moulin Rouge," I said. She gave me a tired smile.

I still thought she was looking way too unhappy for this occasion, though didn't want to let it worry me too much. We packed the gold back into the pillowcase, and suddenly, the _Saga_ was a lively, bustling ship once again. The dining room burst into a din of laughter and conversation, everyone was eating and talking and smiling — because the ship wouldn't have to be claimed by the bank, nor flown with two of its beautiful engines permanently damaged, nor its crew disbanded. All was right again in this world, and grinning, I snuck my hand in Kate's once again, and we went to sit back down. Looking at everyone's smiling faces, I felt a sense of pride and relief; I didn't mess things up after all. Or, I did, but finally managed to make it right. The mountain of shame pressing so deeply on my heart for the past two days evaporated, along with the guilt and depression. I felt like I was flying with every step I took — which, considering where we were, was technically true. It was a pity we'd drank all the wine; a bit of champagne, and tonight would've been perfect.

"You know," Kate said, "doesn't this make you feel like dancing?"

"Absolutely!" said Hal. "Our last dance ended up badly. This is our chance!"

He was talking about the discovery of the aerozoan, and how Mr. Dalkey had died. For a moment, all of us fell silent.

"After dinner, Hal," Dorje said calmly, like a parent gently reminding a child. We all smiled at his tone of voice. Hal didn't even mind. He was exuberant, and I didn't think I've ever seen him in such high spirits. It was like he got drunk on the sight and knowledge of gold alone.

"Speaking of dancing," I said softly to Kate, "if we were in Paris right now, tonight would've been the night of the Autumn Ball."

"Really?" she said, delighted. "This is our own little Autumn Ball, then."

I grinned. "Looks like we didn't miss it after all. Dinner and then dancing, exactly how it is back there."

"Pity you haven't got a black tie." She eyed me with a certain scrutinizing quality in her eyes. "I've never _seen_ you in black tie, you know."

"I've never worn one," I confessed.

"You would've looked very sharp," she said, and squeezed my hand. I could tell she wanted to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss her, but holding hands was bold enough.

"And you would've looked amazing in an evening dress," I told her. "But I think it's all the more fun to dance with casual clothes."

"Of course," she agreed. "I've never danced with pantaloons before."

"You'll be as clumsy as I am," I teased.

"We'll be the clumsiest couple in the room," she said, her eyes twinkling.

And we were. But that didn't matter. As the gramophone's joyful tunes echoed in the lounge, we all danced, and laughed, and twisted and turned and made a fool of ourselves. One song ended, and then the next. I wanted to keep dancing with Kate, but the room was filled with giddiness and energy, and it wasn't polite to hold on to one partner. We swapped, and swapped, and swapped again as each song came to close.

Then I found myself with Nadira in my arms. Despite the cheer in the room, her green eyes were morose, as if she were just putting on a show of being happy.

Being the idiot that I was, I asked her what's wrong.

She stared at me. We weren't much different in height, me being half a head taller than her. Her stare made the room's joy vanish. I suddenly felt a lead anvil of shame, the same shame of these past two days. But different, somehow. I didn't know what it was, and it scared me. What was I ashamed of?

"Matt," she said. She didn't move, even when the song has started. A fiery, flamenco type music which she liked. That didn't stir her. People moved around us like swirling water around a rock. They were all too engrossed to notice. My hands were starting to become clammy. A nervous knot twisted in my stomach. Why? Why did I feel this way?

"Aren't you going to dance?" I asked her, tentative.

She didn't answer. Instead, she strode off to the hallway, dragging me along with her. She was strong, her grip on my hand tight, almost to the point of hurt.

"Hey, wait," I said. "What… where are you going? The dance is still on!"

"I don't care about the dance," she said.

We vanished into the hallway. Here it was dark and dim, and the sounds of music and laughter became distant, almost otherworldly.

"We have to talk," Nadira said frostily. "This. You. I can't handle it anymore."

I stared at her in confusion.

"What?"

"You, Matt. You, and everything else. I _have_ to tell you or I will go insane. What you think of me afterwards is none of my business, but you just _have_ to know."

"I don't understand—"

"Is something wrong?" asked a concerned voice, and we both turned to see Kate, still breathless from dancing, walking down the hallway towards us. "I saw Nadira pull you away."

"I don't know," I told her.

I was so glad she was here. Or I thought I would be glad. But all she did was make me even more guilty and shameful, the clenching knot of my stomach threatening to make me sick. I had an instinctive urge to flee.

Why was I feeling this way?

"Ah," said Nadira. "Hello, Kate. Perfect. Now I don't have to say it twice."

"Say what?" asked Kate.

Nadira's eyes darted around. "We need a private space."

"Why?" Kate asked. "Nadira, what's going on?"

She didn't answer, and instead pulled us to the cabin Dorje was sharing with me.

"Dorje is on another night shift, yes?" she asked me.

I nodded, feeling deeply ill at ease now. This was ominous, almost like walking into a trap.

"Good," said Nadira. "We can be alone."

"What is going on?" Kate asked again as we all went into the cabin.

Nadira shrugged. "Matt ought to know. But for some odd reason, he's forgotten. It doesn't matter. I'll tell you both."

Instinctively I took a deep breath. Some inexplicable sense told me that, from this moment on, my world will be changed, and nothing will ever be the same. A large part of me hoped that I was just being oversensitive.

"Matt," said Nadira, staring straight at me. "We slept together."

* * *

**I had some trouble imagining Nadira's feelings about this, but I thought that, in the end, she would stop caring so much, and would just want to get it out of her chest and move on, regardless of Matt's feeling for her. Which is exactly what she did.**


	9. Betrayal

**Author's Notes:**

**I'm sorry for the long time it's taken for me to update this story. As so happens to most amateur writers of fiction, real life matters take precedence. I myself had been stuck in the middle of a continuous stream of exams, projects, lab reports, and essays that came one after another in a span of almost 4 weeks, and was only able to write a little bit each week. It didn't help that this chapter was kind of hard to write.**

**But here it is. Unfortunately, finals are coming up and next week is review week, so this will most likely be the last update for a while. Look for the next chapter after Christmas!**

* * *

"Pardon?" I said.

Matt was looking confused. I thought I saw a flicker of some recognition pass his eyes, but they were gone the next moment.

"You, and me, Matt," Nadira said again. "We slept together. I don't know how else to put it."

I felt annoyed. "Stop joking around. What do you mean, you slept together?"

Nadira looked at me strangely. "I mean exactly what I said."

Impatient that this was going nowhere, I turned to Matt.

"Matt, what does she mean?" I asked. "That you slept together?"

Matt's gaze was downcast. I willed him to look up, to look at me, but he wouldn't.

"I don't know," he said in a small, slightly guilty voice. "I don't know what she's talking about."

"You do," Nadira said. "Your body does. I don't know why you've forgotten."

"You never said what it means, slept together," I pointed out drily, feeling my nostrils narrow. Nadira was becoming annoying.

A slight seed of unease was in the pits of my stomach. I refused to let it bloom.

"I don't know what I could say," Nadira said, shrugging. "That we made _love_?" She laughed, as if genuinely amused. "Or that we had sex? We had 'marital relations'? Honestly, there's no other way to say it without sounding ridiculous."

It took me a full ten seconds to grasp what she just said, and then my mouth opened in wordless shock. I looked over at Matt, and he was staring at Nadira, looking completely dumbfounded.

Made. Love?

He, and Nadira, made love? My Matt? Nadira, with _my_ Matt?

My first thought was, well, no thought at all.

My second thought was, Nadira has a completely morbid sense of humor.

My third thought was, what if it's true?

My fourth thought was —

"Impossible," I said.

Matt, my Matt, with Nadira? I wouldn't have believed it if she told me he'd kissed her again, let alone… _this!_ After what happened today, after the gold and the smile, and the dancing, the dinner, the holding hands…

"Impossible," I said again.

"It _happened_, Kate," Nadira said. "Whether you like it or not."

"What?" Matt finally managed.

"Exactly as it is, Matt," Nadira said. "You, and me, slept together, last night, in this very bed. Honestly, how much more explicit can I get?"

"This… isn't funny, Nadira," I said. My voice was slightly shaky.

"Of course it's not," she agreed. "It's not funny for me, not funny for you, and probably not funny for Matt. But it happened, and I can't deal with it by myself, so I'm telling you two."

"You're lying," I said. "I won't believe this. This is absurd."

"I am not," she said. "Matt, was there a large bloody spot in the middle of your bedsheet? You took it to Mrs. Ram, right?"

Wordlessly, Matt nodded. His face was pale. He looked like he might be sick.

"And when you woke up, the cabin smelled like me, right? Sandalwood soap?"

Once again, Matt nodded. My pulse was hammering at my temples.

"And, you woke up naked, yes?"

I thought back to this morning. Matt had been wrapped in his towel, wearing a pair of briefs and nothing else. It wasn't as if I hadn't seen him heading to showers before. With only one shower aboard the _Saga_, all of us ran into each other a lot, though usually he'd been dressed properly. He had never been near naked when he went to the showers, except this morning.

Matt nodded yet again. His eyes were either panicked, fearful, or numb. Or maybe it was all three.

"Why was there blood?" he asked quietly. His voice was tight, and unsteady.

"Girls can bleed when," Nadira paused, searching for a word, before deciding to just come out and say it. "When we have sex for the first time."

I didn't trust myself to speak. I just stared at Matt, and then at Nadira. I'd sen them kissing, and was suddenly shocked to realize how _good_ they looked together. They made a very handsome couple. Their height was just the right difference; I was a little too tall. Their skin color too, with Nadira's dusky shade of tan, and Matt's very light shade of healthy tan, no doubt from long hours in the crow's nest. Their skin contrasted each other, perfectly so. And their hair, too — one was dark chestnut, and one was almost black. It was different, but not too different. Mine was auburn — too bright. Their eyes, the clearest green and blue, were like earth and sky, or emerald and sapphire. Mine were a drab grey. Nobody wanted grey. It was so bland, so depressing, and so cold; the color of storm clouds. Plus, have you heard of grey gemstones? Poets never described 'beautiful concrete colored eyes'.

I felt a nasty, piercing pang in my chest. Nadira was beautiful, and Matt matched her in terms of looks. They had similar backgrounds. He had a run-in with her father. In some ways, that made them connected. And then they'd kissed. Was it really hard to imagine… was it really that impossible… that they…?

I shook my head, hard. No. It wasn't possible. Matt was as sincere a person you were likely to ever meet. There wasn't a single dishonest bone in his body. He was a really bad liar, because his eyes would dart away, he would blush, and he would fidget. I could always tell when he was lying. Plus, I knew him. I knew, after earlier this evening, in the hangar, how he felt about me. I _knew_. And he would never do something like… like _this_; not in such a short time. The sheer honesty and sincerity I felt back in the hangar was impossible for him to fake. He was telling the truth. And he could never say all of that, with a straight face, if he and Nadira had… had slept together, just the night before. _Never_.

Nadira was looking back at me, seeming a bit sorry.

"You still don't believe me, don't you?" she asked. Then she sighed. "Matt, when you woke up, weren't there many scratches on you?"

Matt nodded, almost imperceptibly because his head was already bowed so low.

"And some welts, some bruises? Especially that one, between your neck and shoulder."

My eyes immediately went to the mark. It was still red, but slowly turning purple, making it all the more clear against his skin. I'd noticed it this morning, and wondered what had caused it. It had looked like a nasty rash or a fresh bruise. Which, of course, is exactly what it was.

Nadira blushed a little.

"That red mark… is where I bit you."

Matt looked up, surprised.

"You _bit_ me?" he asked in a small voice. He sounded so bewildered.

"I bit you. And scratched you. Your back…"

"Is filled with scratch marks," I muttered, remembering how Matt's back had looked like this morning.

"So you _have_ seen them."

I nodded, stricken.

"One last thing, Matt… you were really sore when you woke up, right? Your hips, especially?"

Matt didn't even nod this time. He just lowered his head once more, and stared at the floor.

I didn't know much about sex. Well, I knew a lot about animals mating, just not _actual_ sex. Even so, I could still imagine the boy being on top, and the girl below, her hands wrapped around his back. And I knew about love bites, or kiss marks. And I knew how physical things can get. I knew what the soreness meant. I knew what the love bites meant. I knew how the scratches could be made. It was all so logical. Everything was evidence. It all made sense.

But I just… I couldn't. I couldn't. A brief image in my mind of Matt, with Nadira, naked, and that was enough to send my breathing to an uneven pant, my vision clouded by tears and rage. I couldn't even think back to them _kissing_, without feeling angry. And this was much worse. This was like someone punching me in the belly, and then squishing my heart into pulp.

The worst thing was, I didn't know what to feel with Matt. I felt tired. I felt so surreal. I was almost sure that if I went to sleep, I'd wake up with everything just fine. A small part of me felt a volcanic, primal fury, at him, and at Nadira, but most of me felt… nothing. Shocked, mostly. Shocked to the point of numbness.

But then feeling started to seep back in. And I couldn't breathe. My throat was choked, constricted. I could hear the roar of my pulse in my ears.

We were silent, all three of us. The cabin was eerily quiet, only the hum of the airship's engines audible, along with the faint sounds of the ongoing dance in the lounge. I kept stealing glances at Matt. He looked so small, like he was five or six, and scared of the dark. He looked like he was about to cry. I knew _I_ was about to cry if I kept looking at him, so I stared up at the ceiling instead.

"How did this happen?" I asked. It was an open question, to either of them.

"We were drunk," Nadira said. "We… I'm not sure."

"You… were drunk."

"Matt was, too. Kate, I know —"

"What do you know?"

"Kate, we really… Matt really forgot!"

"And you remembered?"

"We were both drunk, and —"

"And decided it was fine to start _fucking?_"

I hadn't realized how furious I'd become until that foul word burst out of my mouth. If Marjorie were here, she'd probably faint. If my parents were here, they'd think I was possessed. Nobody I knew _ever_ said 'fuck'.

But there it was, the rage, a galloping force with the ferocity of a tempest, the heat of a volcano, yet cold and burning at the same time, all infused in that word. The emotion was like a film of red and black, clouding my vision. I felt unsteady.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know what I _could_ do. It was as if fury took over my body, soaked into the very fibers of my being. My heartbeat was erratic and hard.

"Say something!" I yelled at the both of them. "You decided it was fine right? Didn't you? _Didn't you?_ And then you just _fucked_, right?"

Normally I'd have stammered, but I was so furious, the vulgar word rolled smoothly off my tongue, once again.

"Kate," Nadira said, cautiously as if approaching a feral beast. "I told you, we were drunk, and Matt's forgot. Please, I know you must be angry but —"

"But what? But oh, it wasn't enough for you to kiss Matt? He's _my_ Matt. _Mine!_ You had _absolutely_ no right, and now, and now…"

That seemed to have gotten Nadira riled up as well.

"And now what? You know, it was your fault anyway. You were cozied up to Hal!"

"Only because I saw you kissing!"

"You acted as if you didn't even want him! Besides, you were the one who said before, you don't own him. _You don't own him_."

My breath hitched, and my vision blurred into a pulsating angry blob. Nadira's face in the dim cabin lights was twisted, as if it were a heat mirage.

How dare she. How _dare_ she use my words against me?

"No! He's _mine!_" I heard myself say. The next thing I knew, Nadira was on the floor, a look of shock on her face.

I'd pushed her to the ground.

That was so unlike me that it calmed me down just enough to step back. I was breathing heavily.

Nadira stood up slowly, brushing herself off, and all the while looking warily at me. I gulped down my anger.

"Get out," I said. It took a lot of concentration just to keep my voice steady. "You said you wanted to tell us. Now you've told us. Get out."

For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to argue, but then nodded.

"Look, Kate, I know what you must be feeling towards me, and I frankly I expected that. But as for Matt… for what it's worth, I started it."

She glanced at Matt, who was now slumped against the wall, head still down, gazing vacantly at the floor.

"Matt," she said. "I…"

She sighed.

"Kate, don't be so hard on him, okay?"

That was it. The boiling sensation came bubbling back. All I could think was, _I don't want her here_. _I don't want you to talk about Matt_. _I don't want you to even _look_ at Matt_.

"Get out!" I yelled, and she finally did.

ooo

The cabin was back to being eerily silent with just us two. Now that Nadira was gone, I could think a little more clearly.

The night was dark with no moon to light the lush tropical forest below. Dorje had announced our landfall during dinner — we were currently passing Bangladesh.

I wanted to go over to Matt and hold him, but he was distant. I wanted to talk to him, but the air was heavy with unexpected emotions. We were like two trees with a hammock in between, and now the crushing weight of this new knowledge was like a mammoth in the hammock, threatening to unroot us, and rip us from the ground.

Nadira had said he didn't remember. But was that true? How could that be?

How could a boy… how could a boy be so intimate with a girl, and not remember it afterwards?

They were joined. They were joined! He… would've been _inside_ her.

There was no way he didn't remember.

Yet…

Something lit up in my mind, part of the conversation we had at dinner tonight. Part of what Matt had said.

I rushed over to him and tugged his arms.

"Was it the dream?" I asked.

Matt was still staring at the floor. I repeated the question, and again, and then again. I shook him, violently.

Finally, as if just noticing, he lifted his gaze.

"What?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"The dream, the dream you said you had. Was it last night? Was it?"

He looked confused.

"You said you had a dream. You said it was embarrassing. You wouldn't tell me…"

My throat decided to close up at that point and I couldn't choke out another word. But that was enough. Matt blinked, and suddenly, went even more pale.

He had 'forgotten', but not really. He'd remembered it as a dream. As a 'dream'.

I felt the tears now.

Matt sank down onto the floor. He buried his head in his arms.

"You didn't forget," I said.

"I forgot," he said.

"Liar."

"No…"

"So that's why you didn't tell me about your dream?"

"…"

"Matt Cruse! Answer me!"

He looked up, and I realized he was really crying, now. His cheeks were wet.

"I forgot," he whispered, as if trying to convince himself as well.

"Why are you still lying to me?" I asked.

"I'm…"

"A dream. Really? Do you think I'm so naive to believe that?"

"It's… the truth."

"Why are you still lying to me!"

"I'm not lying!" he said, and dragged me down, into his arms, and hugged me so tight I had trouble breathing. "I'm not. I'm not…"

"You are…" I said softly, enveloped in his warmth and his smell. I ought to feel close to him, but despite our touching bodies, we were distant.

We kissed.

It was more of a kiss of anger and confusion than anything. There was little affection, but only fevered, grotesque passion. It was also a try — as if both of us wanted to see if we could just forget it all; just go back, and kiss, and make everything wonderful again.

I tasted his tears. I tasted my own. Bitter. Bitter. I so wanted the kiss to be good, and it was good, but it was wrong. The lips, temperature, the angle…

"I hate you," I murmured, and he kissed me some more, his lips desperate. I knew he was trying to not listen. I knew he was still crying. He was trembling. I kissed back.

But, no. That was no good. I…

"I hate you!" I screamed. "I hate you. I hate you!"

I stood up and pushed him off me. He looked at me with those sky blue eyes of his.

"It was a dream," he whispered.

"Liar," I said. "Liar."

He started coughing.

I thought back to the way he treated me back at the hangar, the tender, hopeful, happy Matt. It was hard to believe that it had only been a mere three hours ago. It was hard to believe that it had all been a lie.

"Hypocrite," I said. That was a nice, compact word. "Hypocrite."

It had been today in the hangar. This had been last night. He… They…

I remembered the warmth of his palm a few hours ago, when we still held hands. I remembered the look, the spark, the excited energy passing between us, enough to power Paris. I remembered how close he felt back then.

And it was all a lie. It was all a lie, because at that time, he'd already…

_**Nadira**_.

And that was it. I couldn't breathe. Us kissing made me think of them kissing. I couldn't even look at his face. Such an honest, heart-touching face, I'd come to know and love all of his expressions. How could he lie? My heart was telling me, urgently, that he was telling the truth. Matt… just couldn't lie. He was too… _good_, of a person. How could he?

And yet he did. He had. He'd lied to me. He must have. How could anyone have forgotten that? My stomach gave a nasty heave. I backed away from him with unsteady steps.

"Kate," he said, from far away, trying to reach me but not quite being able to. "It was a dream, Kate! You were in the dream! It was… it was you!"

What did he say about me? Liar. Liar. I didn't know I could even _feel_ like this, this heavy, heavy sense of anguish. Heart torn to shreds. And suddenly, the perfect word.

_Betrayal_.

That was exactly how this is. How it felt to be betrayed by someone you cared so much about. Back in the hangar, I had foolishly thought as far as marriage. A life together with Matt.

Now, I knew I had been foolish. That was not a life. I would never live a life together with a lying, worthless traitor.

Matt was still calling my name as I ran out of the cabin, down the hallway, and into my own cabin. His voice was desolate, and it pounded on my chest. Everything was blurry.

I threw myself into the bunk, buried my face in the pillow, and screamed.

That was the first time in my life that I cried myself to sleep.


	10. Retracted

**Author's Notes:**

**Today I finished the Leviathan Series by Scott Westerfeld. Read it; if you like **_**Airborn**_**, chances are you'll probably like that series as well. In my humble opinion, Mr. Oppel is the better writer, but boy Mr. Westerfeld's world is so much more interesting! Not that Matt and Kate's world isn't, but it's just a tad less fantastic.**

**On that note, I am actually, right this moment, in Matt and Kate's hometown, Vancouver (or Lionsgate City as it's known in the books). It struck me while I was on the plane, and I thought, well, being in the main characters' hometown has got to get some creative juices flowing. Who knows? Maybe I'll write a few more chapters during my stay. **

* * *

Marjorie came back to the cabin after the dance ran its course, flushed and panting and visibly excited. She made a big show of saying how tired she was, before loudly unscrewing yet another can of her endless supply of moisturizing creams and applying it on her face and arms.

My tears had dried by that time, and the horrible feeling of emptiness returned. I was replaying the scenes from tonight over and over again. The grim expression on Nadira's face — or was it smugness? Matt's bewildered eyes — so clear, yet so deceitful. All the evidence, ingrained into his skin, his body — the wounds, the welts, the bite mark, the scratches.

I was trying very hard not to think. _Stare at the ceiling_, I told myself, as if the plaster and metal struts held some sort of answer to all the questions of life.

Why did Matt do it? Why did he lie about it? Why did it have to be now? I mean, logically, if he were seeing someone, starting _after_ we got back to Paris would make the whole thing a lot easier to keep as a secret. The _Saga_ was simply too small a space. Did he really think he could keep this hidden from us? From me?

Pain assaulted my chest, as if reacting to the idea of Matt secretly seeing someone — anyone. I remembered when he first introduced Nadira to me. He had already seen familiar with her, back then. Of course, he had an elaborate story about meeting Matthias "John Rath" Grunel at the Ritz, but maybe that part was embellished as well. Maybe he had known Nadira ages ago. Maybe everything he'd ever told me was a lie. Maybe all his kisses were lies, all the way up to the very first two, under the tropical forest moon, soot-stained and tear-smeared, but sweet…

No, no, no. _Stop, Kate_. _Stop it_.

Insensibly, my cheeks had become wet again. I didn't dare cry out. Marjorie would be all smug and I-told-you-so if I ever talked to her about Matt. She never really approved of our… relationship — although I think she was secretly delighted at the drama she can witness. Nothing like some Gypsy trouble to spice things up.

Not that it matters. There is no relationship anymore.

Not after this. Not after what he's done.

My last thought before I fell asleep on the damp pillow was to wonder, how can Matt still look so innocent when he was lying to me the whole time?

ooo

The dreaded morning came prematurely with a thundering snore that yanked me from the depths of dreamless sleep. I rolled around in bed for a moment, confused, until another snore practically shook the bunk, and I realized it was Marjorie.

Typical, really.

I sighed, pushed off the covers, and hopped down to the floor from the top bunk.

My mind was cruel. Not only did sleep not dull the pain, I felt it even more as I walked out of the cabin. This time, yesterday, I'd had the good luck of helping a half-naked Matt walk to the showers. Except, of course, he was half-naked because of Nadira, and the whole wretched thing hadn't been good luck after all.

Then it was as if his smile and his blush and everything that made him so endearing decided to float back into my mind, like some infernal, cacophonous parrot who wouldn't shut up about some obvious fact that it had already reminded you of a thousand times over. Yes, I _know_ what Matt looks like, and how honest and clear his eyes are, and his tousled hair, and his light-footed grace while moving about aloft, and the kindness, the _decency_, the…

The lie.

Insensibly, once again, my world blurred.

I really, truly hate boys. I hate how they could nonchalantly sneak into your heart, and snag a prime spot right smack in the middle of it, like some rude audience jostling to the front of a theatre by pushing past everyone else. And then, when they left that spot somehow, it's as if the centerpiece had never been there anyway, like your heart had never even been _whole_. Think about it! Could you even _imagine_ a heart missing its septum? I mean, anatomically, I supposed it would get quite messy, and you'd die of systematic asphyxiation within a few hours. But with this sort of weird, symbolic "heart", the "heart" that was used for loving and being loved, you wouldn't die. You're just left feeling raw and helpless, torn asunder and bleeding in the insides, though every cell in your body is still perfectly healthy, and every artery still intact.

Honestly, it's utterly unscientific, this _love_ business.

I wandered into the lounge, shuffling my feet. I looked up, hoping and dreading at the same time, but the slender chestnut-haired boy was nowhere in sight. Maybe that was for the better. I wouldn't be sure of how to face him if he were here. I poured myself a glass of water and waited for Mrs. Ram to open up the kitchen counter.

Involuntarily, I found myself imagining Matt sitting across the table, or sitting next to me. Imagining his gentle voice, his intoxicating scent — a breezy, boyish mix of soap, fresh clothes, and clean sweat. His warmth, and his eyes, and the tiny calluses on his fingers from many years of doing ship chores, handling rope, and patching hydrium cells. I wish I could hold him next to me, if only to reaffirm that we _once_ had something. That we once kissed, that we once were like two people in one. No longer, but once upon a time, long ago.

When I blinked, it was as if by imagination, I'd willed him into being. He was standing a little ways back from the table, on the opposite side, his hair tousled and his clothes disheveled, looking surprised and determined and apologetic, but also fearful and lonely and insecure. There were red rims and a subtle darkness beneath his eyes, and I knew he hadn't slept much.

"Morning," I said, just to make sure he wasn't an illusion conjured by my overly wishful mind.

"Morning," he replied. He was staring at me, as if also not believing I was here.

A few seconds passed. He looked like he wanted to come over to my side, and I had a powerful urge to get up and just cry in his arms.

Instead, I said: "You're up early."

"I've been on duty since four thirty," he replied.

"Did you sleep at all?" I said before I could stop myself, the concerned question forcing its way out of my mouth. He looked a little taken-aback, as if wondering how I could still care about him even after all that.

"No," he said. His eyes had a restless look about them, despite his slumped shoulders and the tired lines at the corner of his lips. I realized he must have been awake for a whole day by this point, not having slept ever since… well, ever since he'd gone to bed with Nadira.

I felt my concern evaporate. He can die of fatigue for all I cared.

We fell silent once again. The steady pitch of the airship went on, undisturbed.

"We're over the Ottoman Empire, now," he said, as if I'd asked. "Dorje took us around the Himalayas."

"To avoid us having to acclimatize once again in the mountain heights," I said, nodding. "Most sensible."

I didn't know why I responded. Matt stared at the carpet by his feet with intense interest.

A few more silent moments passed by.

"I don't get why you couldn't have told me," I said. "I don't get why you had to lie."

And just like that, the world turned blurry again.

"I didn't know," he said.

"You mean, you forgot."

"I — we were drunk. Kate, I said I'd never h…"

Back on the _Hyperion_, he'd said he'd never hurt me. Now, he probably realized how preposterous those words would sound, and stopped.

"You already have," I said, not needing him to finish.

"I know," he said.

"The Eirish never forget, and the English never remember," I said. It was a stereotype. "Well, the order seems a bit off, to me."

He looked suddenly weary.

"You still think I'm lying," he said.

I paused. "I don't know," I answered truthfully. "Although, you _are_ Eirish. You're _supposed_ to be heavy-duty drinkers."

He looked sad. "If only that were the case with me. Unfortunately, being Eirish has nothing to do with this. My father had never, ever gotten drunk, so nobody taught me how to drink."

"That just means he could hold down a _lot_ of alcohol, doesn't it?" I remarked tartly.

"He never drank more than a few glasses." For a moment, Matt seemed almost angry that I'd talked about his father that way, but then his shoulders sagged.

"But just go anywhere! New Amsterdaam, Lionsgate City, Paris… wherever you go, the bars are filled with Eirishmen."

"Just because other Eirish people drink a lot doesn't mean my dad or I do." He gave a little pause. "I wish… I wish we did, though. I wish he drank a lot on shore leaves. Maybe he'd have taught me how to drink."

His eyes were dark and haunted, desolate with raw regret and piercing sorrow, and I knew he was telling the truth. He didn't have a head for alcohol. I'd seen as much myself, yesterday morning.

"You can't blame it all on alcohol, though," I said after a few seconds. "As I've said, she's very beautiful."

He nodded.

"It's normal for a young chap like you to be attracted to her."

He nodded again.

"The accent and the skin color helped, perhaps?"

He blinked, and nodded.

"It probably did."

"And if this young chap like you is thrown into bed with this beautiful, Gypsy, Britic girl, drunk, anything can happen, I suppose."

He didn't nod this time, but flinched, as if remembering first-hand the night he spent with Nadira.

"And should I just say it's not your fault at all, and pretend that it was just alcohol and animal instincts at work? Then we can all go back to before, and attend the Autumn Ball, and I can see you in black tie?"

My voice had gotten quiet without me realizing. I saw from his eyes that we wanted the same thing, that we shared this vision tied together with our mutual, intense desire. We wanted things to go back to how it had been before. But then, tears slid down his cheeks, and he shook his head.

"Why? Don't you _want_ to be forgiven?"

Matt didn't say anything, except to look down.

"Answer me!"

His gaze was broken when he finally looked back up.

"I still _did_ it," he said simply. "I'm still… tainted,"

And with a jolt, I realized he was right.

Because all of this had been an attempt to sort things out with logic. I'd figured that, if there were sufficient logical reason for me to forgive Matt, I'd do it, and we could go back to normal. Once we got back to Paris, Nadira would be headed back to London, never to be seen again. But logic had a nasty habit of disagreeing with love, and with jealousy. Even if all of the above were true, so what?

He'd still fucked her.

And for that, things will never be the same between us, no matter whose fault it was, or if it was an accident. It was like murder — once the deed's done, there was no way to bring back the dead.

We stared at each other.

I wished that I could say something like _it doesn't matter_, or _I will still accept you no matter what you've done_, but the matter of fact was, I couldn't. Even if I wanted to, there was no way I could make those words reality. History was history, and the past could not be changed. In our case, it could not even be forgotten.

Finally, slowly, I breathed out.

"Yes," I said, "I suppose you are."

He went silent then for a long time after that, as if not quite believing what he'd heard, even though he was the one who'd said it in the first place, and I'd only agreed with him. Then he nodded.

"What should I do?" he asked, as if I'd know the answer.

"What _can_ you do?"

"Nothing. I can't change the past."

"Obviously. Why ask?"

"Because I don't want to lose you," he said quietly. I saw that, once again, his eyes were moist. And so were mine.

"Me neither," I said. "Me neither."

I almost went over to kiss him then, the urge was so strong. He looked so lonely, a pale, listless shadow of himself. He'd started pacing; a few steps left, turn, and a few steps right.

"Are your… wounds okay?"

"What wounds? Oh." He gave a terse nod as he realized. "They'll heal."

"But the scars will be there."

"Yes. But even if there were no scars left, I…"

"Still can't do anything. Well, except on her front."

I noticed his knuckles had gone white. He was also biting his lip. His pacing got more frantic.

"What do you mean?"

I let out a humourless chuckle. "Go marry her, I suppose. That's what the heartbreaker men do in all those stories."

"I don't _want_ her," he said fiercely. "I want _you_." He said that with such force that I knew how certain he is, how sure he is that he wanted me. And yet, if he were this certain, then why…

His eyes dimmed a little, then, and he shook his head.

"I want you," he said, "but I've hurt you."

"Full marks for stating the obvious." I tried to swallow, but to no avail. My throat's grown into a hard knot. "Anyway, Mr. Cruse, it might be the only thing you can do at the moment."

He winced. Me calling him Mr. Cruse in private had upset him, perhaps even hurt him, but he still looked at me, waiting for me to continue.

"Wedding her, I mean. You and I, we… aren't possible, not anymore."

He gave a hollow laugh. "Do you _want_ me to hurt you more than I already have? I'd rather die."

"It hardly matters now, does it? I've already been hurt. The fact of the matter stands — you've been intimate with her. _Intimate_. If someone somehow knew, they'd know this was out of wedlock, and you'd be in a scandal."

I had a brief, hellish image of Matt walking down a church aisle with Nadira in his hand, and shook it violently away.

"I'll never wed anyone but you," he said. "Never."

"And I'll never wed you. Not now, not after this. No. After your lying, and…"

Shocked, I noticed that this was probably the fifth time I've cried today, and it's barely even morning.

"I know," he said softly. "I — what I'd done. It was wretched."

I didn't respond.

"I know it happened now, that I remembered it as a dream, but…"

He trailed off, and I glimpsed in his blue eyes a pain that I've never seen in him before. He didn't want to lose me, and he thought he already had. He took a breath to steady himself, before continuing.

"… But I just want you to know, I would have never let this happen, if—"

"If you hadn't been drunk? Well, clearly."

"We're just going to cry here all morning if we stay, aren't we?" he said after a while, his voice a bit raw.

"Evidently. Have you ever thought of how utterly _stupid_ two people would look, just staring at each other across the table, and crying? We must look like absolute idiots."

"I want to stop," he said. "I'm sure I've never cried in front of you before."

"True. You haven't, not that I recall."

He stopped pacing then.

"I suppose… we should distance ourselves, shouldn't we?"

"Yes," I said. "That would be most logical."

No more seeing each other, even when we resided in the same city, was almost too much of a tragedy in and of itself. But we both knew it had to be done, if for no other reason than stopping ourselves from thinking about what could never be changed.

He took a shaky breath.

"Miss Simpkins will certainly be happy."

"I couldn't care less what Marjorie thinks of you."

"Will you tell this? To her, I mean?"

"Why would I? Just so she can laugh at me and say _I told you so_ in her snobby voice, and then sit back and watch us like reading one of her novels?"

"Good point," he said. "It'd be a real-life scandal for her, and she wouldn't miss the drama for the world. She's an utter hypocrite."

I felt a smile on my lips.

It was almost infuriating how much I wanted to hold him, and how well we could _still_ talk to each other despite the circumstances. How he could _still_ make me smile. How often do people like this come across each other? Not very, I'd wager.

I sighed, partly to keep myself from crying more.

"You said we were over the Ottoman Empire?"

"Yes. We passed into its borders early this morning. We should be around Constantinople right after breakfast."

"How long… till Paris?"

He gulped. "By the end of today, I should think."

That soon. And yet that far away.

"One day," I said softly. "Then, I suppose, it's goodbye?"

"I suppose so."

The unexpected panic seized me. I wanted nothing more than to go up to him, envelope him in my embrace. I wanted to forgive him, for to be parted, forever, at the end of today, was almost impossibly painful to bear, even if staying with him was equally as painful, and staying with him and Nadira was even more agony.

Gingerly, as if he might get electrocuted any time, he stepped closer, and reached out a hand. It hovered above the middle of the table.

Even like this, the gesture was so childish that I managed to smile a bit. As if you could patch up something like this with a handshake.

"Is this an attempt to make up?"

Matt stared at his hand for a moment, and stared at me.

"No," he said haltingly. "I… What I did, doesn't deserve forgiveness. I just… I'd like to… to hold your hand. For a bit, before, you know… If that's alright."

So it wasn't meant to be a handshake after all.

The way he said the whole thing created sharp stabs of pain in my chest. He had already given up. In some ways, I suppose I didn't want him to give up, even though it was pretty clear that the incident would never leave either of our minds. I looked at his hand, a simple thing that represented all that we've shared together. He wasn't asking for forgiveness — he was seeking warmth, the temperature of my hands, and perhaps, like me, a reaffirmation that, it really _had_ happened. That _us_, that Matt Cruse and Kate de Vries, hadn't been a dream. Before we went our separate ways, he wanted at least that much.

_Nadira_.

I hesitated too long, and after a heartbreaking moment of silence, he retracted his hand.

ooo

Mercifully, Nadira had been absent at breakfast, apparently not ready to face us either, and we had chosen seats carefully distanced. Not too close, but not too far. I'd heard he had bridge duty after this.

"Kate," he called me after breakfast.

"Yes, Mr. Cruse?"

I saw it then in his eyes again, the small burst of hurt.

"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "in the dream, it had been you."

Funnily enough, I found myself half-believing him. I entertained the thought. What if it were true? What did that change? That, in the flesh, he was with Nadira, but in his mind he was with me?

"Dreams don't really matter in the real world, Mr. Cruse," I said.

He stiffened, then nodded. "You're quite right, Kate." He paused, pensive, as if savoring the sound of my name. "Kate."

"Matt," I whispered.

For a brief, exhilarating moment, his eyes lit up with joy, but then dimmed once more. He sighed.

"Given that we will be parting within the day, Miss de Vries," he said, "I think we should, at least try to… be on amicable terms."

"I wholeheartedly agree, Mr. Cruse," I said. "Let's not mention anything unsavory from now on, yes?"

"Yes," he said, and headed port for bridge duty.

Me, I suppose I'd just go back to my cabin, and cry some more. I do wish these tear glands would dry up soon — goodness knows how inconvenient it is to walk around trying to do science with one's cheeks constantly wet. I can barely see the taxidermy, for heaven's sake.

Heartbreak is so annoying.

* * *

**Extra Notes and Random Stuff:**

**Eire is the name for Ireland in this series (and it is actually the official name of Ireland in the real world). Likewise, Angleterre is England, and Eirish = Irish.**

**The quote Kate says is often attributed to the 19th century British Prime Minister, William Gladstone, who wrote that a consensus was hard to reach in the Irish separation problem because "the Irish never forget, and the English never remember." Over time, it became a stereotype for Irish people, along with things like they're good kissers, they're heavy drinkers, they're good singers, you're supposed to kiss one on St. Patrick's day as a good luck charm, and that they're mommy's boys. Considering all the above, Matt is pretty un-Irish :P**


	11. I Just… Do

**Author's Notes:**

**I'm getting impatient with my story. I have already written a lot of the future scenes because they're much more fun to write, but to connect the present to the future is a boring, monotonous job. Alas, the story can't just skip ahead a month, so I must grit my teeth and get through these parts where nothing really happens. Le sigh.**

* * *

"Heading changed to northwest by north, please report."

Jangbu's voice came through the speaking tube from the crow's nest. "That should clear it. Will update."

Hal locked the wheel in place, and peered outside the bridge window. Far above us, to the north, was a dark storm system hovering over the normally-sunny shores of southern Greece. We could pass under it, but our ballast tanks didn't need recharging, and flying through a storm was always a tricky business.

He shook his head and turned back to us. Kami and I were on bridge duty with him today; I was in charge of the elevator wheels, which I thought was unexpected. Normally, when on bridge duty, I'd be in charge of the engine cars. Maybe Hal trusted me a bit more to make me a helmsman.

Our captain was whistling, clearly in a good mood. He's been like this ever since last night, when we revealed our gold. I was glad that at least some of us were buoyed by the news. Right now, I couldn't bring myself to care much about the gold, or anything else. It was almost like I could no longer feel joy. My footsteps were laden, even though we were aloft. I was in my element, but everything was wrong.

My exhausted body complained. My limbs were heavy, my eyes were dry. There was a constant, dull ache in my chest, and sometimes I felt dizzy. I hadn't slept in nearly twenty-seven hours, but despite that, despite having no energy left within me, I stayed awake. Normally I'd be eager for my shift to end, to crawl into bed and sleep. But now, I wanted nothing more than for the shift to drag on. I wanted to stay like this, sky and sea and green rolling hills spreading out a thousand feet below, feeling the air fresh and invigorating, pretending that nothing in the world could ever bother me besides our course and storm clouds and our hydrium capacity. I didn't want to go back to my cabin. I didn't want to see anyone except the crew. I didn't want to go back, where the truth lurked, and cry like a little boy who had hurt his ankles. I couldn't even bring myself to go near my bunk.

I'd spent last night in the lounge, of course — I couldn't sleep in the same… place, where I'd made the worst mistake of my life. Even without those bedsheets, even without the lingering smell of sandalwood soap, I felt dirty. Tainted. Filthy. Corrupted. I felt like some sort of husk, all rotted away inside.

And even in the lounge, sleep had not found me. When I noticed it was time to go to the crow's next for my watch, my eyes were raw, dry and bleary. I didn't want to close them, though, because whenever I closed my eyes, I saw Kate. The night was a distraction. I'd occupied myself with the stars, almost _hoping_ to spot some unidentified vessel on our tail, to shake me out of the crushing monotony. I was alone, all alone, with no one but the ship for company.

"Cruse!" said Hal impatiently, for the second time. I snapped out of my trance.

"Yes?"

"You've been in a slump the entire day! Why are you so glum?"

I knew he meant well, because I'd redeemed myself by finding the gold, and he was no longer cross at me at all. This was merely a concerned, if slightly bossy question from a captain who cared about his crew, but I still felt a slight burst of annoyance. I quickly repressed the feeling.

I couldn't respond to his concern. Or, rather, I didn't deserve any compassion. I felt that I didn't deserve anything, really.

"Sorry," was all I said.

He frowned, then clapped me on the shoulder.

"Listen, if it's got something to do with what I said before, I didn't mean it. You're a fine sky sailor."

"Hal, it's not about that. Honest."

He raised his eyebrows. I shook my head.

"Then? You look like someone bound for execution."

"Must be the _Saga_," Kami said sagely. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"Right," I said, grateful for the excuse. "It'd be hard to part with her."

Hal scoffed. "How melodramatic, Cruse. With the way you're going, I daresay you'd build your very own ship in a couple of years!"

"Thank you," I said, though the confident words didn't make me feel any better. I doubted I would ever amount to that much, anyway. Certainly not a captain of my own ship.

I wondered if this would be my fate — if I were doomed to love only ships, and not people. After all, a ship can't feel betrayed, nor have her feelings hurt. A ship can't make you feel like you're the worst human being in existence, and should die a gruesome death in a ditch somewhere.

A ship doesn't make you hate yourself to the very core, just by letting you see her tears. In fact, a ship can't even cry, can it?

ooo

I got off duty at lunch, but didn't want to go. I wasn't hungry.

However, since I couldn't just hang around the already crowded bridge doing nothing, I soon found myself aimlessly pacing in the lounge, staring at passing clouds. I would never go back to the cabin, and I didn't want to go down to the cargo holds, where I'd feel claustrophobic and trapped, or even meet Kate.

I thought maybe I could wear myself out enough that the rest of the day would be a blur. We were over the Mediterranean now, much smaller than the Pacificus or the Indian Ocean, but still large enough to make you feel lost in it. I needed somewhere to get lost in.

The smell of spice and stew wafted from the kitchen, which would normally make me realize how hungry I am. Today, though, my stomach gave no longing lurch. It felt as heavy and painful as a bag of lead.

"Enjoying the view?" came a voice tipped with the signature accent, elegant and lilting. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

I had no room to spare for her; I didn't want her near me, neither my person nor my thoughts. I had no emotion to spend on her, not when I've spent them all on Kate. I wished she'd go away.

"I suppose it's my fault," she said after a few seconds, when I'd said nothing. "I hope you aren't too cross with me."

"Please leave me alone." I said quietly.

"Matt, I'm… sorry."

"Are you now?"

"About this whole thing, I know what this means to you and —"

I laughed.

"_You_ know what this means to me?"

"I swear it. And I swear I'm sorry. I truly am."

I whirled around, surprised that she could rouse anger when I thought there had been none. Surprised that I was even bothering to feel angry. Surprised, most of all, that I even cared.

"Don't insult me with your lies."

She looked as beautiful as ever, and I hated her green eyes, wider now due to the surprise.

"I'm being as truthful as I can be," she said after a short pause.

"Tall words for someone who misled me."

"I didn't mislead you, Matt! Or, at least, it was by accident."

"By accident?"

"Yes! I didn't mean for — neither of us meant for it to happen."

"So you did mislead me."

"I — well, I told you, it wasn't on purpose."

"But it happened anyway, didn't it? Just like how I didn't kill your father _on purpose_. But guess what? He's still dead, rotting in the belly of flying panthers! You think _he_ gives a damn if I did it _on purpose_ or not?"

That struck home, and there was for once a crack in her composure. Her eyes narrowed. I met her gaze head on, challenging her.

"It was consensual," she said finally.

"You _tricked_ me."

"But you were the one who mistook me!"

"And _you_ were the one who took advantage of that fact! You took advantage of _me_."

"Well, I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't look! You _wanted_ to see Kate, so you did. Even though we are different heights, even though we have different hair, different eyes, and different skin. Different accents, even! You simply refused to look. You kept seeing Kate."

"Couldn't you tell I was drunk?"

"We both were."

"You still could have walked away!"

I was panting now, my fists clenched. I felt dangerously close to tears again, and was determined not to cry. Having Kate see me cry was more than enough, I didn't want Nadira to see it too.

"You could have just walked away," I said again.

She shook her head slowly.

"No, Matt. I couldn't have. I love you."

Instantly, all the fight went out of me. This was the first time she told it to me while I was sober, and the weight of its entirety made me feel sick. Not only because I didn't want it — but also because I couldn't possibly return it. It made me feel terribly guilty, weary, and also wretched.

"What a bloody mess," I said.

"Yes," she agreed. "I couldn't resist, Matt. I couldn't let you go, I couldn't walk away. I'm sorry. You probably never felt like me before, because you've always had Kate, and she's always had you, but imagine that she… wasn't yours, and then you find yourselves drunk, and kissing, and… Imagine that. Please."

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to look at her. I knew what she was talking about. If my feelings for Kate were unrequited, and then suddenly we found ourselves alone, drunk, and together in bed, and Kate mistook me for her lover… it might be hard to stop myself from playing along, from indulging in my own fantasies for a brief night. Nadira certainly did.

"It doesn't matter," I said finally. "It's already done. This mistake, whether it's your fault or mine, or both of ours, we already…"

My voice choked up then. Tentatively, she laid a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Ha. Fat lot of good that does."

A few seconds passed and neither of us said anything.

"Did you really have to tell us?" I asked after the long moments, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "Was it really necessary?"

Her voice was firm this time. "Yes, it was necessary," she said. "I couldn't keep it to myself. I _had_ to tell you, or I'd explode."

"Even if it makes me hate you?" I opened my eyes again and stared at her. She blinked uncertainly, but then nodded.

"Even if it makes you hate me. But do you?"

I wasn't sure what I felt with her. I wasn't sure what I felt with myself. My instinct told me to not say anything rash, but whenever I looked at her, all I was reminded of was how _different_ she was from Kate. How she should be taller. How she should have auburn hair. How her skin should be lighter. How her dull green eyes should be that intelligent grey I loved so much. How her fiery voice should be the excited, energetic one I was so used to hearing. I have lost so much, and because of so little. I'd be a fool to say Nadira's not beautiful, but her beauty unsettled me — it repulsed instead of attracted.

So, do I hate her?

"I don't want to lie," I said.

"I'm not asking you to."

"Then… yes."

She nodded. "I expected as much."

"Is this what you want?"

"No, but there's no other alternative. Matt, I don't expect you to understand, but telling you was something I had to do."

She looked sad, and for the first time I realized how painful it must be, to be hated by someone you loved. And yet, I felt no compassion for her.

"Why did you have to love me?" I blurted out.

She looked as if she wanted to answer, but did not know how. Finally, exasperated, she shook her head.

"What sort of question is that?"

"Because if you didn't, none of this would have happened!"

"Then why did you have to love Kate? If _you_ didn't, none of it would have happened either."

The unexpected retort stumped me. I opened my mouth, and closed it again, struggling for words.

Why _did_ I love Kate?

"I don't know," I said quietly. "I just… do."

"Exactly."

She smiled sadly, then offered me her hand.

"Come on, let's get some lunch."

I ignored her. After a few moments of silence, she finally walked away.

ooo

I stayed in the lounge during lunch. I had no appetite to begin with, and especially not now, after talking with Nadira. I didn't dare go to the dining room either, for fear of seeing Kate.

I tried pretending to be asleep, but that didn't work. I was far too restless. I sat on the couch, feet tapping up a furious storm, as if the rhythm held some sort of salvation — and sleeping people don't really tap their feet. I stared out the window. Our destination drew closer with every hour, and here I was, doing nothing.

In the airship engine's drone, lunch seemed to pass by in an instant. I heard the clinking of cutlery, the chatter, Miss Simpkin's trill. From the adjourning dining room, laughter spilled over, and I couldn't feel more out of place, like a specter haunting a lone corner, away from all joy. Then it was silent again, everyone back to their own.

Insensibly, I began to rock myself back and forth, like a kid on a swing set. I hugged my legs to myself, feeling hollow and broken. I had no intention to cry again, but there was a steady pressure behind my eyes, refusing to leave. My thoughts hovered constantly around Kate. Kate this, Kate that, Kate here, Kate there. The more I tried to _not_ think about her, the more I thought back to her.

My mind seemed to be mocking me, and sleep offered no mercy. I was so stricken that it hurts just by breathing, a constant pang in my chest that reminded me of its presence whenever I drew breath. I was like a void of nonexistence, and I felt my negative energy creating a barrier. Nobody entered the lounge, and all afternoon, I was alone. This stretched on until the fiery glows of sunset washed the room in a blaze of orange. It was beautiful outside, the rolling greenery of the French countryside bathed in the sun's last glows, but I had no cause to enjoy it.

Finally, far to the north, the lights of Paris gleamed like a yellow jewel in the darkness of the world. It was nearing the end of the month, and cloudy, too, so the moon gave barely any light. The _Saga_ made its sure way across the sky, mile by mile, gliding ever close to the brilliant metropolis. I could spot the Eiffel Tower in the center now, rising up, and over a ways was the Paris Aeroport, the massive dome of its Heliodrome looming over like a glowing Christmas ornament half-buried in the ground.

The knots in my stomach tightened, and my heart was pounding an incessant, frantic rhythm. I felt lightheaded as well. I imagined living my life without Kate, imagined us vanishing into the Parisian night never to see one another again, and couldn't. We knew where each other lived — I even knew the locations of her classes at Sorbonne, and she knew where the Academy usually held their training flights. The vastness of the greatest city on Earth may as well have been nought but a small airship, where we could only avoid each other by choice, not by chance.

The _Saga_'s engines pitched to a lower tone, slowing down.

"You're almost home," I told her quietly. "Hal's got the gold to fix you up now."

The same gold could not fix me up. It could buy me a new uniform, buy my mother and sisters a better life, but it could not buy Kate, nor her smile, nor her affection. In that regard, it was pointless.

"I'll have to say goodbye to you soon," I added. The _Saga_ made no response, and I went back to rocking. I wondered sometimes if airships do have feelings. If the _Aurora_ ever missed me, or if the _Saga_ ever will. I'd certainly miss them both.

The engines slowed even further as well circled gracefully around the Heliodrome. I imagined the crew at the bridge, radioing the harbor master for permission to land, and for the information of booth and station. As expected, moments later, we began to descend again, headed straight towards a slowly widening slot in the wall of the dome. We slipped through smoothly, and the night skies of Paris was replaced by the bright lights inside the dome, where night was as busy as day. I felt the ship lowering gently, and soon we were only ten feet above ground. I saw ground crew hurrying to and fro, Aruba fuel trucks bustling around, and airshipmen chatting to each other, or working to re-provision their ships. The _Saga_ was probably in for a stern reprimand by the officials in charge because of our hasty departure a few days back, but with his new found fortune, Hal would be able to settle any dispute quite nicely.

I was on my feet now, standing next to a window, looking and looking as if I were a country bumpkin getting my first visit to an aeroharbor. In truth, I was desperate to put my attention in the littlest things, in other ships, in people, in the dome, in the lights — in everything besides our imminent arrival, and what it would mean.

I knew I should go back to my cabin and pack everything I brought back into my duffle bag, but couldn't bring myself to do it. The cabin was still too dark for me, too full of regrets and mistakes. I was afraid that, just by going in there, I would be forced to relive what I'd done.

The next few hours passed by in a trance. I avoided everyone, especially Kate. I mumbled my goodbyes to Hal and Dorje and the rest of the crew. I managed to go in the cabin and pack, which was throwing in all my dirty clothes and my textbooks before bounding out of the place. I saw some of Kate's suitcases already piling up in the corridor, near her door. I didn't know where Nadira was, and I didn't care.

We docked, and I saw the gangplank lowered. Ground crew tethered the ship into a snug mooring spot.

Only Kami and Ang stood around the open doors, but I knew that soon, everyone else would be here, waiting to disembark. I knew I ought to stay and help with everything — that much at least I owed the crew, and Hal.

But I couldn't. Not if it meant seeing Kate again.

I hefted my duffle bag, weighed down by the four bricks of gold. It seemed so trivial now.

The edge of the gangplank was still hovering about a yard off the ground.

"Goodbye," I said to the _Saga_, and hopped off.

"Matt?" came Kami's voice from behind. "Matt, where are you —"

I paid him no heed. I started to walk, then picked up pace. Alarmed shouts of the ground crew were all around me.

"What's the hurry lad?"

"Your ship ain't even settled!"

"Ay, watch it!"

I felt so weary. I ignored all those shouts, and kept going. Let them think what they may. Let them think I was a stowaway, or a smuggler, or someone running from the law. Hal's gold should shut up any inquiries quickly enough.

It felt cumbersome to run with my duffle bag, but I went through, berth by berth, passing under catwalk and floating airships, dodging trucks and people and cargo.

The exit of the Heliodrome was ahead. I burst into the Parisian night, like some prisoner breaking free of his jail. The clouds and the lights of the city made the sky starless.

I didn't know how I found my way back into the city, back to the Academy, back to Dornier House, and back into my little room. By that time, my arm already had no feeling, not even the burn from the strain and weight of carrying the bag for so long. It was just numb. I was numb. My legs were sore and shuffling. I had no memory of taking a tram, so I may have walked the full five miles. I was panting.

My room looked clean and orderly. The little bed was neatly made, just as I'd left it a week ago. I dropped my duffle bag, and it landed on the wooden floor with a dull and heavy thunk. I bolted the door, kicked off my shoes, stripped down to my boxers, and crawled into bed.

It was then that I began to laugh. Quietly, uncontrollably, I laughed, the tremors shaking my body. Then, just as suddenly, I started to cry, tears streaming down my cheeks in rivulets that wet my pillow. Angry sobs shook me.

I had outrun Kate de Vries. I was out of her life, and she was out of mine.

_Forever_.

The enormity of the situation forced itself upon me like an avalanche flattening a mountain village, and I sobbed. Sometime later, sleep took pity, and pulled me into its sweet embrace. Perhaps the forty hours I'd spent awake was finally enough.

My last thought before the world went dark was, _I don't want to wake up_.

Because when I do, I knew that my world would no longer be the same.


	12. Be Gentle

**Author's Notes:**

**Oh no! So many chapters has ended with Matt crying — I must try to salvage what little of his dignity that remains… by adding more crying scenes!**

* * *

I stared at the whiteness of the typewritten page, with gruesome red marks slashed into its depths like bloody gashes and violent wounds.

_International Airship Academy, Autumn Examinations: Aerostatics_, it said at the top. Next to it was a box, prompting year and name. Below, in my crimped and childish scrawl, were the words _Year 1_ and _Matthew Cruse_. Over all of this, to the upper right hand corner, was the glaring red number, a sentence to doom: 37.

Another, similar piece of paper, titled _Autumn Examinations: Mathematics_, held a score scarcely better: 54.

I'd failed both of my most important subjects.

I suppose it shouldn't really be that much of a surprise — after all, I hadn't finished either exams because I'd ran out of time. To make matters worse, what answers I _had_ put down turned out to be incorrect. It was as if all my studying had accounted for nothing, because when the numbers stared at me in their inscrutable masses, my mind had gone blank.

Dean Pruss had seemed particularly stern this morning, when I'd gone to his office at my assigned time — like every other student — to retrieve my exam results and graded exam papers.

"Mr. Cruse," he said, "I do not wish to lecture you, but you _know_ already that instinctive ability will only take you so far."

"Yes sir," I replied meekly.

"Please see to it that you take pains to improve your knowledge and performance. If —" this was when he fixed me with a particularly chilling stare — "if your scores should remain as they are come the December Mid-year Exams, you will _not_ pass this year. Do I make myself clear?"

There wasn't anything to do besides to say "Yes sir," and leave, a hollow gaping hole of shock slowly growing within my chest. The Academy had a total of four exams per school year — the Autumn Exams in October, the Mid-year Exams in December, the Spring Exams in March, and the Final Exams of May. Due to the training tours all the first years took, however, our Autumn Exams had been pushed back three weeks. It was now near the middle of November, which meant that the Mid-year Exams were but a month away.

A mere month of time to master every nuance of math and aerostat. It seemed as impossible a task as reaching outer space.

Not for the first time, I wondered why a ship's course needed to be plotted with math. It used to seem as simple as drawing a straight line across a map, but of course that was not the case. A great circle route was needed if you wanted to save gallons of fuel and days of time, and that in turn required geometry and calculus.

And then there was the matter of calculating lift — how much lift does each cubic feet of hydrium under so and so pressure provide, and how many pounds does that translate into? Provide your answers in both imperial and metric systems of measure.

That was another annoying nonsense about math in aviation, which is that many countries in Europa used the metric system, while the British Empire (including Australia and Canada and the like) used the imperial system. The Americans used what they liked to call the "standard system", which was basically the imperial system with a few little tweaks. Since aviation was world-over, all of this meant a constant conversion between meters and feet, liters and gallons, kilograms and pounds, kilometers and miles, Farenheit and Celsius, and so on. It was completely maddening.

With a sigh, I closed my _Mathematics of Flight_ textbook, frustrated. I'd been trying to make sense of the material we'd already covered, but it was proving fruitless. I also tried to review my exam, redo the questions I couldn't do, but it didn't help that I got the wrong answer — different, but still wrong — for each new, pathetic attempt. I tried to use some of the tricks Nadira had taught me, back on the _Saga_, but the merest reminder of her made a film of anger and regret and indignation settle over my mind, and I would scarcely be able to think.

In the end, I decided to go to bed and turn in early. Tomorrow was the start of the weekend, and there were no classes. Professors were available to answer questions, but part of me, the stubborn part, wanted to try them on my own. I didn't want to admit to anyone my failings.

If I failed this year, my prepaid tuition would not be enough to cover the extra year I needed to graduate. Instead of wasting more time, then, I'd more likely de-enroll, go back to Lionsgate City, back to some airship liner, to find a job. Stay there until I was thirty and hope for a promotion in the mean time. It was a dull life, not that I didn't fancy going back in the air, but I'd have wasted a year and a considerable amount of money. And I would never be able to face Captain Walken — whose kindly and over-sympathetic recommendation was what got me here in the first place. I had an uncomfortable feeling that, because of that, Dean Pruss had been expecting more of me. Time passed, and, of course, I had not delivered. I'd let everybody down.

And now I wasn't sure if I ever could.

As I laid in bed, trying to fall asleep, the cold of the outside air seeped in from the not so well-sealed windows. I shivered, and pulled the blankets tighter around me. The cold draft was like a chilling finger, sending its icy touch upon me whenever I was about to fall asleep. I stared at the ceiling, concentrating on my breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. In, out.

It was a long, torturous time before sleep managed to prevail. And as so often happened in the past two week, Kate de Vries made her way into my dreams.

ooo

I woke up to a series of knocks on my door, with a vague sense of loss. Groggily, I peered out the window. What little sliver of sky visible through the quadrangle was brilliantly white — noon time, perhaps. I sneezed, and realized that I'd kicked off all my blankets during the night. I pulled them back up from the floor, wrapping myself in their soft comfort, but warmth did not come easy. I was still shivering a little when the next couple of knocks resounded off the wood of my door.

I yawned, stretched a little, and slid off bed. I was still in my briefs, of course, with my blanket wrapped around my bare shoulders, but I didn't bother putting on more clothes. All of the Academy's students were male, and whoever knocking was bound to be a fellow student — faculty never came into the dormitories themselves, and we didn't have housekeepers.

I made the few shuffling steps that took me to the door, unbolted it, and swung it open.

"Good morning," said a slender boy dressed in a brown overcoat. He was also wearing a hat, and long khaki trousers. I frowned, not knowing who he was, but then he took off his hat, and long black hair spilled out, and I found myself staring into the beautiful tanned face of Nadira.

My mind froze up for a second or two, before I slammed the door in her face. I threw off the blanket, grabbed a shirt and a pair of trousers, yanked them on unceremoniously, and tugged the door open again — rather forcefully, the bang of it echoing in the still air. Normally I'd be blushing to be in such a state of undress in front of a girl, but I was too busy feeling shocked and angry to bother feeling embarrassed.

"Why are you here?" I demanded after a moment. "How did you get in? How did you know my room? Are you out of your _mind?_"

"You're rather hostile," she remarked after blinking away her surprise.

"Of _course_ I'm bloody hostile! Why are you here?"

"May I come in?"

"No!"

She looked at me, and I thought I saw a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. I scowled.

"What do you want?" I asked again.

"I just wanted to see you, Matt."

"Alright, you've seen me. Now go."

I really haven't the time to worry about her. She was a dark and chaotic force in my life, the cause of all of this mess. I didn't want something to remind me of Kate — not now, not when I should be focusing on school. I didn't want the memories of what could be come rushing back to me. It was hopeless anyway. Dimly, like a captive craving that pinprick of light after spending years in the dungeon, I grasped at the memories of yet another night of dreams and hopes and wistful illusions of the auburn-haired girl who occupied my thoughts and my life so effortlessly, but they were already lost to the glaring midday sun. The harsh reality of the day peeled off the dreamy mirage of the night, and together with Nadira standing there, my chest felt so tight for one moment that I almost couldn't breathe. I had to remind myself that I no longer cared about Kate.

"That's not the proper way to treat a lady," Nadira complained.

"You're a lady now, are you?" I retorted.

"Of course I am. And the least you could do is to invite me into your room so I don't have to stand in the hallway and tire my legs."

"Get lost," I muttered, and closed the door again.

Obviously, that didn't get rid of her, because moments later, the dreadful pounding started.

"Matt! Matt! Let me in. Matt! Okay, I won't pretend to be a lady anymore. Let me in. Matt! I just want to see you! Come on, Matt?"

Her voice was rather loud, and I dreaded thinking my dorm-mates overhearing the commotion. I thought she would stop, but the pounding went on, and on, and on, as did the constant stream of pleas. I counted the seconds, the minutes, and she showed no signs of tiring, her voice as clear and high as ever.

Finally, tired of her persistent nonsense, I groaned.

"Bloody hell," I muttered. I opened the door, and in stepped Nadira like a conquering hero. She looked around for a bit before inviting herself onto my bed. I closed the door behind her and slumped into my chair, feeling suddenly quite drained.

She peered at me with interest, and I felt disturbed by her stare, so I simply closed my eyes. I heard a rustle that meant her reaching over to my desk, and then a dull thud that meant she probably grabbed one of my textbooks.

"We worked through this," she commented, as a page flipped. I made no response, wishing I were tired enough fall back to sleep. I didn't want to deal with her.

"You were a bit cruel to take off like that without saying farewell to anyone," she continued. "Hal was also annoyed that he had to explain to the port officials that you weren't a stowaway. Kami said you looked almost like you were mad, jumping off the ship like that. He said you just ran, and didn't look back."

I was resolute in my silence. I did not want to talk to her — I'd only let her in so she'd shut up and stop pounding on my door and causing a ruckus. What she did after that was none of my business. However, unfazed by my lack of response, she continued to talk.

"Everyone was quite puzzled, you know," she said. "Why did you rush off like that? Like you're running from something? _Were_ you running from something? Well, I guess in the end everything worked out. Have you sold the gold yet? I went to the International Gold Union the other day, and the official price of gold is at a new high. You might want to sell yours soon."

Another page being flipped.

"We really did go over these problems, huh. Are you still having trouble with them? Do you want me to teach you again? By the way, have you talked to Kate at all since you left? She seemed very pale the last time I saw her. Have you talked to her at all, even?"

Then:

"Do you miss her?"

My eyes snapped open in surprise, and I found her gaze already on mine. She didn't even blink as she stared into my eyes. Then she smiled, almost like she's glimpsed a secret.

"You do, don't you?"

I didn't answer.

"Do you want to see her?"

Silence.

"Two weeks is a long time. Maybe she misses you as well?"

No words.

"Do you know?"

Nothing.

"Did she ever love you?"

The muteness stretched on for several seconds, before Nadira sighed.

"Matt, I still love you," she said. "You'll never get her back."

I stood up so abruptly that it left my mind reeling from the unexpected action. I grabbed Nadira by the wrist and dragged her up, despite her surprised protests of pain.

"Get out," I said, feeling the cold stormy steel in my voice. "You said you wanted to see me, you've seen me. You wanted to talk to me, I don't want to talk to you. Get out."

An icy rage filled my veins, and my vision pulsed black with anger. I didn't know why her statement made me so angry, because I've already known, but perhaps it was like an affirmation of everything that had happened, of what I'd lost, of what I avoided to think about for this past two weeks. Of the gravity of it all, of the burden and the extinguished hope of resolution.

Of Kate.

I was breathing fast, and I felt a sick coil in my stomach. I haven't talked or even seen Kate since the night I left the _Saga_, and had promised myself that I didn't need to. She was perfectly fine without me, and I'd learn to be perfectly fine without her. I didn't need her. I needed to _learn_ that I didn't need her — I had to, or be turned back into the lovesick fool that I was.

And so for two weeks I'd barred her from my thoughts, only allowing her inside my dreams. I forced myself — steeled myself — to erase her presence from my mind. I'd convinced myself that I didn't miss her. I'd said her name to myself every night, until I could do so without any feeling. Matt Cruse did not care about Kate de Vries. He did not. Absolutely not. What he cared about was his aerostat assignments and math problems. What he cared about was the upcoming exam. _Not_ Kate de Vries.

But now, here comes Nadira. Somehow, her presence and her declaration was like some infernal radio broadcasting an unwanted reminder, awakening my own suppressed feelings. Two weeks' worth of apathy was rapidly draining away, sucked by the vortex of the hurricane raging through the fibers of my being.

Suddenly, like some emotional floodgate being lifted, I realized I wanted desperately to be close to Kate. I wanted to see the color of her cheeks, her intelligent, clear grey eyes, hear her wind chime laugh, see her beautiful smile, touch her auburn hair, so fiery and energetic, and hug her and kiss her and just _see_ her. She was as infinite as the vast reaches of the sky; as refreshing as oxygen, as uplifting as hydrium, and as pervasive in my mind as nitrogen. Her memory in me was like the solid alumiron of an airship, and without her, I was without focus, without support, without cause.

I stumbled out of the room, still grabbing onto Nadira. My vision swam because I was so struck by emotion, and I was fast becoming nauseated. I let go of her hand in the hallway and blindly made my way to the bathroom. I found a stall, knelt by a toilet, and was noisily sick.

She followed me. Of course she would. She followed me, and her hands were on my shoulders, on the small of my hunched back, gently patting, soothing. I wanted Kate's touch, but settled for hers as I heaved the contents of my stomach — bitter bile and burning acid — into the toilet bowl, as if my body was punishing me for how deeply I've buried my longing, and was determined to squeeze out every last drop of apathy. Heartache and heartburn jabbed my chest. I'd heard that feelings could have a physical effect on your body, but never has it occurred to me that it'd be so… _real_.

Given that I hadn't had breakfast, nor dinner the night before, there wasn't anything to vomit. After a while, my body simply gave up, and I was finally spared from its brutal, vindictive menace. I slumped against the toilet stall wall, feeling utterly miserable, the heartache not disappearing but intensifying, spreading beyond my chest now. I tried to pretend the hand on my shoulder was Kate's, but that thought sent such a twisting pang into me that I immediately let it go.

"Come on," said Nadira, gently. She hooked a hand under my arms, and helped me unsteadily to my feet. "You daft boy."

I coughed and wiped my mouth on my sleeves. My blood was running rampant all over my system, and I felt lightheaded yet heavy at the same time. I was faintly aware of Nadira leading me back to my room. We sat down on the bed.

Then she kissed me.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't really expecting it. I knew about her feelings for me, after all, and she'd just confessed why she was here to see me. Of course, she also knew I'd hate it, but Nadira had never been terribly considerate of other people's feelings.

I kissed back angrily. I hoped the taste of bile and acid in my mouth would disgust her, repulse her enough that she'd run away and never come back, but she responded even more eagerly, and a hand reached into my hair, fingers curled into tangles. I tried to imagine it was Kate, but I couldn't. It was a destructive kiss, like an explosion of anger and lust and angst. My body sent conflicting signals — on the one hand, I liked the way her lips felt, the way her breasts pressed against my chest, but on the other hand, I hated it. I hated it all — because she was not Kate, and never will be.

Nadira began to reach a hand under my shirt. Her palm was icy against my stomach. I shivered. She soon had her other hand roaming my chest, and had somehow eased the shirt off me. Her touch felt good, and I wanted to lose myself in them. We kissed more. My hair was a complete mess by this point, and we were panting.

I didn't remember when Nadira took off her overcoat, and then her shirt, too, being dressed as a boy. But underneath, her chemise was loose and thin and airy, and her dusky skin moved below in barely-hidden, supple rounds. From the uncomfortable tightness of my trousers, I knew I was aroused.

Or, rather, my _body_ was aroused.

"You're eager," Nadira said as she pressed herself close to me, wrapping her hands around me, clinging to me like those koala bears native to Baz's home.

I felt empty as she pushed in aggressively, forcing contact in the region between our legs, which seemed to make me harder. She was struggling with my trousers, and her hand brushed the sensitive tip of me, but I didn't even have the energy to blush. It occurred to me to wonder if this was how it had all started, that night, more than two weeks ago, this thing that was all animal passion and no love. It made me terribly tired, and even more sad, but also just angry. It made me angry that Kate had been lost over so… basal an act, so grotesque and lustful and _ugly_. It made me angry that it was Nadira who made it happen, Nadira who forced it, basically. But above all, it made me angry that even now, my body was responding to hers. It jolted me how _easy_ I was to seduce, and it made me feel powerless and plain disgusted with myself.

Part of me wanted to let this go to where it would naturally go, to let our bodies do what they had been built to do. But the other part of me wouldn't bear it. I could not let it happen — not again, not sober, not… Kate. Nadira's hug was forceful and hungry, tight almost to the point of suffocating, and it was like she was trying to consume me, not make love to me. It was possessive and fevered, so instead of feeling any closeness or comfort or even contentment, all I felt was a gross sort of lust, and apathy. Already I felt her nails dig too hard into the skins of my back and shoulders, trying to leave their mark, trying to recreate the crisscross of scars that they'd left on me two weeks ago.

As if that hadn't been enough.

"We'll have to be quiet," Nadira said in a gushy whisper. "You'll have to be gentle."

Then she half-dragged me down towards her, and we both fell onto the mattress. I was on top of her, and, sober, it felt good. Her body was warm and soft and inviting, but also clutching and gripping and crushing me from around. She kissed me, and this time, the kiss went further, and her tongue reached into my mouth.

I didn't really know what to do at this point, so I bit her. The rusty taste of iron bloomed on the tip of my own tongue, and I heard her surprised cry and felt oddly and cruelly satisfied. She pulled away from me, and removed her hand. I saw a growing red bead seep out her lips, before it slid down her chin. I pushed away, stood up, and found that my breathing was quickly returning to normal.

"I'm sorry," I said coolly. "I guess I wasn't as gentle as I thought."

She stared at me, as if seeing me for the first time. I was glad that the sinful red spot on my chest had faded, and so had the various bite and kiss marks left from two weeks past. I looked back at her, cold.

"Put on your clothes," I told her as I shrugged on the shirt she had so hurriedly discarded. I tossed her her own shirt, and her overcoat. I thought I saw a green flash of hurt in her eyes, and couldn't help but feel the perverse sensation of triumph. But then it was gone, and what remained in its place was a blank weariness, and a sea of boiling heartache that it threatened to drown me on the spot.

I looked at her as she slowly put on her clothes, looked as she began to realize what had just happened, and what had almost happened.

I looked at how un-Kate she was.

"You're right," I said, but my voice had turned into a croak. "I'll never get her back."

And I began to cry.


	13. Decision

**Author's Notes:**

**Last chapter with Nadira in it for a while, I should think. We'll see.**

**Sorry about this chapter taking so long - the gist of it is: whatever I wrote seemed stupid. This is like the third draft and it still reads stupid, but whatever. I don't want to spend even more time on this chapter. I should think there's roughly 10 more chapters until a successful, coherent conclusion. Bear with me in the mean time!**

* * *

Matt refused to lean on me. He just put his face to the wall, shoulders trembling slightly, silent angry tears dripping onto the mattress. He shrugged off my hand when I tried to touch him.

"Don't," he croaked, which made the single word seem terribly fragile, as if it was made out of glass and can easily be shattered. His entire being seemed fragile — his thin, boyish frame seemed barely enough to contain his anguish, and the way he curled his knees up toward himself was like a lost child, wanting to be comforted. I wanted to comfort him, but he wouldn't let me.

I watched him cry, feeling each and every sob as if they were my own. They say your heart broke for someone you loved, but they were wrong. My heart didn't break for Matt. It broke _with_ Matt. I almost didn't dare to look at him, because looking at his sobbing form, it reminded me how much I wanted him, and how much wanting him would hurt him. Had already hurt him. Had hurt Kate, even.

I'd known it was a long shot anyway. My tongue bled into my mouth, making everything taste like blood. He would never go with me once again. Kate was like a veil, heavy and drooping on his person and his mind. He would never allow himself to make the same mistake twice, not while sober.

Mistake. I felt a pang of anger at the word. With Kate, it would have been a kiss, a romance, a passionate night. With me, it was simply a mistake, nothing more. I felt his warmth radiating next to me like a furnace in winter cold, like the burning sun, and I could smell him, smelling of soap and sleep and sweat and bitterness and sorrow. Already the memories of that night were getting dimmer and dimmer — the marks I'd made on his chest and his shoulders had already faded. It was starting to become difficult to imagine it had ever happened, but his tears were the very proof.

When you meet good, honest, _decent_ people, it almost pains you to hurt them, because they are so helpless and undeserving of punishment. Matt was like that, but I couldn't help it. I tried to convince myself that I couldn't help it, and knew that it was a lie. It was merely a last-ditch effort to try to get what I craved.

Love was a tricky thing, fickle and annoying. To desire someone, I've never had such an emotion in me before. But now, I wanted so strongly to hug the person next to me that it was almost unbearable. The flier burned in my pocket, and I took a deep breath.

_Now you know his answer_, I thought to myself. _Let him go_.

_He doesn't, and will never, love you_.

_Let him go_.

"Matt," I began, but my voice fell back on itself. What could I say? That I didn't mean to try to seduce him, again? I should be saying sorry. I ought to ask him to forgive me. A furious symphony of regret and want ran rampant in my head.

All the same, he looked up at me, his face wet. He was biting his lip, stubborn, and trying to not let the heartbreak show, but it was evident in every bit of him, and that image was almost enough to make me cry as well.

I took out the flier.

"I lied to you," I said quickly, before I lost the nerve. "I came here not just to see you. I came here to bring you this."

He blinked, and a last droplet of tear got squeezed out from his eyes and slid down his cheek. After a second or so, he hesitantly took the flier from my hand.

A large white ape was drawn on the front of it, and below, in both English and French, were the words:

.

THE UNIVERSITY OF PARIS, DEPARTMENT OF ZOOLOGY PRESENTS:

THE MYSTERIOUS YETI

MISS KATHERINE DE VRIES

NOVEMBER 14, THURSDAY, 4:00PM IN THE LECTURE THEATRE

ALL ARE WELCOME! TICKETS NOT REQUIRED!

.

I heard him take a quiet breath, and counted.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

"They were handing it out near the university."

"And you came to give it to me?"

"I thought you might want to see her. Am I wrong?"

He shook his head quickly.

"But if this was why you're here, why… just now…?"

It was a hard question, and I looked away, trying to swallow the hard lump that had suddenly formed in my throat.

"I was selfish." I said finally. "I had already planned to give this to you, but seeing you again, my own feelings got the better of me. I was jealous, and spiteful. I wanted to own you again."

I coughed to hide my agony. I knew looking at him would just make me want to kiss him again, so I stared at the wall.

"I'm not yours to own," he said quietly.

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have thrown myself onto you. It was ugly."

He sighed. "I suppose I should say sorry as well. For biting you."

I swirled my tongue in my mouth and tasted the residual iron once more.

"No. You were just… defending yourself."

He shook his head, but didn't argue further. "Why did you want to give this to me, though?"

Another hard question.

"It's not right," I said after a few moments' pause. "What we've done. What _I've_ done: to you, to Kate. I want you two to get back together."

"Ah," he said. And after two long seconds: "Thank you."

"You shouldn't be thanking me. I'm the reason you're in this mess in the first place."

"Yes, but you…"

"To love someone is to respect their choices," I said. "You've made your choice, and I need to learn to respect it."

I felt his hand on my shoulder, tentatively, with a light tug, and I turned back to face him. His eyes were open and honest, apologetic.

"I can't return your feelings," he said solemnly.

"No, you can't. But at least you can go see her."

"She wouldn't want to see me."

"How do you know?"

"Would you see someone who broke your trust?"

"But it's going to be alright, isn't it?"

He bit his lips.

"Just go see her," I said, miserable even though it was my idea. I scolded myself for being unreasonable. "You never know."

"She'll just dismiss me. I mean, thank you for this, but I don't think seeing her will make a difference."

"You'll still go, though?"

"I won't."

"I don't see why you can't. You and Kate were…"

The word _perfect_ was poised at the edge of my tongue, but I was unwilling to say it. Because they _were_ perfect, as if truly made for each other. Even an outsider could see that. I paused, searching for something to describe their relationship.

"…_complete_," I said finally. "Plus, it wasn't your fault. I told her as much. Just go — I bet she misses you as well."

"I've no doubt," he said drily.

I felt my brows furrow.

"You don't think she does?"

"No, no. She probably _does_ miss me. I think."

"Then why are you not willing to go see her? If the feeling's mutual —"

Matt sighed.

"Do you think I don't know where she lives?"

"… What?"

"Do you think I don't know where the University is, where their Department of Zoology is, what her schedule's like?"

"I don't understand what you're trying to…"

"Do you think I couldn't have visited her any time I wished during these past two weeks?"

He had me stumped. I hadn't actually thought about that, so I could only nod.

"Well, that's not how it is. I know where she usually is — I could've seen her any time I wanted to."

I felt somewhat insulted and indignant. After all that trouble of coming to terms with my feelings and making up my mind, he's telling me he could've seen Kate any time he chose?

"Then why didn't you?"

"She might miss me, but she still hates me," he said simply.

"She doesn't hate you! I'm sure if you just explained —"

"Explained what? That I didn't…" he blushed a little — "didn't sleep with you?"

"That you didn't mean it!"

"So in that logic, a murderer gets pardoned if he didn't mean it?"

"Being unfaithful is hardly comparable to murder! Plus, you made no promise to her. You weren't engaged or anything."

"We were _together_."

"Well, things happened."

"_You_ happened," he remarked sharply, but then looked away. "Sorry."

"In any event, why don't you just apologize and —"

"Apologize? For the ultimate betrayal?"

"If you look at it, it was only your body being unfaithful, the whole time you —"

"Do you think it matters to her?" He jabbed a finger at his chest. "You left a bite mark here. Do you think it matters to her if I _wanted_ you to leave that mark? Do you expect her to believe me if I told her I hated every moment of it? What sort of man could say that he hated… hated sleeping with someone like you?" He blushed again, in embarrassment and anger both.

_Someone like me_. The indirect compliment left me thirsting for more. I felt my own light blush creep up on my cheeks, and had to remind myself that we were impossible together. Had to remind myself that right now, I was trying to help him get back with Kate.

"Matt, you don't remember a moment of it," I pointed out.

He shook his head miserably. "No, I do. As a dream, but I do. And I liked it. My _body_ liked it, or it wouldn't have happened at all."

"You were drunk."

"Drunkenness is no excuse, Nadira."

"You're being way too harsh on yourself."

"No, I'm not harsh enough. If I were harsh on myself, I wouldn't have drank."

I threw up my hands in frustration.

"Fine then, be that way! I give up! Why is it me who's trying to get you to go back to her? It's none of my business!"

"Well, I didn't ask you to!"

"Do you even _want_ her back?"

He stared at me in disbelief.

"Are you mad? Of _course_ I do! I want it with all my heart! Do you know that I'm failing my classes and still all I could think about is her?"

"Really? Because it sure doesn't feel like that. You cried for her just now, but you're refusing to do anything about it!"

"I'm refusing to do anything about it because she would dismiss me and I'd end up hurting her more!"

"That's a load of blather, and you know it."

"Why do you want us back together anyway?"

"Don't try to change the topic, Matt. Just go."

"And what? Give her a bouquet of roses and treat her to dinner?"

"That's quite romantic. Why not?"

He almost looked like he wanted to smile. "You're impossible."

"I still don't get why she wouldn't forgive you."

"It's _done_, Nadira," he said. "What did you think, that just because I didn't initiate, I could apologize to her and everything will be sunshine and rainbows once again? It doesn't work like that. _Kate_ doesn't work like that. We did something only a married couple ought to do, and you think she'd forgive me? You must be insane."

"Two people who love each other should be together," I insisted.

"You really think she'll forgive me?"

"Well, if she wants you back, yes."

"Let me ask you a question then. Let's say _we_ were together. Let's say we were seeing each other. And then Kate, or another girl, did to you what you did to her. Did to me what you did to me. Let's say that girl slept with me while we were drunk. Say that girl was beautiful and exotic. Say I told you I didn't mean it. Would you believe me? Would you _forgive_ me?"

He was gazing at me head on, and in his eyes burned a furious sort of indignation that scared me to look. He hasn't even blushed. He just looked at me, daring me to say yes, confident that I wouldn't. Under his gaze, I found my mouth suddenly quite dry. I swallowed.

"Yes," I said softly.

He blinked, and blinked again. "Really?"

"Yes," I repeated. "To get you back, I would forgive you. Matt, you're not a person who would cheat. You're too good, too kind, and too _loyal_ for that. And if I know it, Kate knows it — she knows you better than I ever will. I'd be angry at you for a while, but in the end, I would forgive you. And so would she. Trust me."

He wanted to believe me, I knew. His blue eyes were vulnerable, and I had an urge to hug him. I didn't even want to kiss him anymore, or do anything physical — just hug. I just wanted him to feel my warmth, and that would be enough.

"I want her back," he whispered.

"I know," I answered. "The talk is at four. You have two hours."

"Do you think she'll like flowers?"

"To be honest? No. But she'll like your visit."

He gave me a small, rueful smile.

"I think you're right about the flowers."

There was a short pause.

"I hope you're right about me."

ooo

"Stop fidgeting!" I hissed, grabbing Matt's arm.

"I didn't bring anything," he said in a high, nervous voice.

We were at the very back of the auditorium, five minutes from opening time. It was packed to standing room only, with people spilling out into the aisles. The yeti had captured imaginations ever since the first successful Everest expedition, and evidently this fascination hasn't faded. I even saw a few reporters up front.

"Well what could you have brought that she would like?"

"I don't know, I should've brought something, we haven't seen each other in two weeks!"

"Just be calm," I said. "You're being unreasonable. It's only Kate."

"It's only Kate who is giving a lecture to three hundred people!"

"If you're this nervous, maybe you should wait outside until the lecture is over."

"No — you're the one who should do that."

I gave him a look.

"Afraid to be seen together with me?"

"I just don't want any more misunderstandings. I can't afford any."

Despite this, though, he was tapping his feet and swaying from side to side, ever so slightly, and I knew he didn't want me to leave. He needed someone to stay with him, he was way too nervous.

"She's not going to hold a grudge forever, you know."

"Forever is too late. Even two weeks may be too late."

"Two weeks is not too late if she loves you. Trust me."

"But does she?"

"How could she not?"

He shook his head. Tentatively, I reached my hand out to his, and grabbed it. He was shaking, his slender fingers trembling as if the room were minus twenty. I squeezed, and my heart fluttered when I felt a faint squeeze back.

"You give yourself way too little credit," I said in his ear to overcome the din of our surroundings. "She loves you, probably more than I love you. I promise."

"That's a weighty thing to promise," he replied with a shaky chuckle.

"Well, you don't know how lovable you are."

He was too nervous by now to laugh at my joke. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the podium, and we held our breaths together, waiting.

We didn't have to wait long. At almost exactly four o'clock, a slender girl in a light blue dress stepped out from the backstage, all energy and charm. I didn't have to see her face, I didn't have to hear her voice, to know who she was. The gathered audience burst into expectant applause.

She really hasn't changed. I suppose she couldn't have, not in such short a time — the flowing auburn hair, the brilliance coming off her in almost visible waves, the charm and energy powered by passion for knowledge, they were all the same. But what I noticed was what was not there — the seeming lack of any worry or grief or loss of sleep. Matt had been bedraggled and broken-heart when I saw him. Kate, on the other hand, was immaculate. She waved cheerily and tread with sharp steps over to the podium, and her gaze swept the room and passed over us as easily as water flowed on rocks. I felt Matt's grip tighten.

"It's only Kate," I said soothingly to him, stealing a glance at the same time, but immediately I knew my words had not been heard.

Matt's eyes had turn into two clear, piercing beacons. He was staring at the podium with such intensity that I could feel the longing in his gaze even from his side. His sight was locked right on her, penetrating the crowds and murmurs, the sounds and noises, the cigar smoke and veil of darkness. He was holding my hand, yes, but to him, I may as well not exist. His whole world was Kate. I could see him soaking up every single bit of her, her clothes and her hair and her eyes and smile — all of these bits that he missed over these two weeks. And all this time he was just still, almost not even breathing. Just staring.

Something shifted in me, seeing him like that. Something like jealousy, but not quite as biting. It was a gentle respect, I think, respect for the _deepness_ and _intensity_ of his feelings. A grudging respect for Kate, too. _Lucky, lucky girl_.

Then there was a inkling of doubt. I looked back at Kate, proud and excited and confident at the podium, all scientific professionalism, ready to give a talk about one of the rarest creatures on Earth. She seemed so different than the Kate I'd seen before, the Kate on the _Saga_, that I couldn't help but wonder if the two weeks had been more time than I'd thought. Enough time to change her feelings, for example.

Enough time to have made her forget about Matt.

My eyes flicked back to the boy I loved, and in the darkness made out his resolute blue eyes, his barely combed hair, him in a simple shirt and jacket. Despite what he's been arguing all along, I knew that if Kate really _did_ hate him, and he'd come here only to find that out, he'd be crushed.

And then he'd seek me for comfort, and I wouldn't be able to help myself. If that were to happen, it wasn't so hard to imagine one thing leading to another, as they almost had today, and me and him ending up together. Me, out of love, and him, out of obligation. The prospect was thrilling, but ultimately hollow. So what if I could end up with him as a couple? He'd never be happy. I raised my tongue against my cheek to feel the pain where it was bit; a grim iron reminder.

Did I want this boy by my side if I knew he'd never love me? If I must always live as a substitute for another girl, smile only to serve as a living difference, and risk bearing children for him whom he might never truly care about?

No. That wasn't the life for me.

As Kate cleared her throat and the lecture theatre quieted down, I found myself hoping for a happy reunion — for Matt, for Kate —

and for me.

* * *

**Note on the University of Paris:**

**I thought it was called Sorbonne, but apparently it was officially called the University of Paris, and Sorbonne was just its nickname. Up until the mid 20th century it was the preeminent university in France and Europe, until it got disbanded in 1970 and replaced by a bunch of newer universities, some also called Sorbonne.**


	14. Invitation

**Author's Notes:**

**This chapter is a bit short. Sorry this took so long — I'm contemplating switching schools and working on a few personal stuff. Now that it's summer break, hopefully the updates will be faster. I also didn't think the emotions here were that believable — any opinions or criticisms are welcome.**

* * *

I looked at the small audience before me. There were easily a few hundred people, with more crowded at the end, their heads moving and rustling like ants scuttling about their anthill. The lecture theatre was packed, and everyone was murmuring excitedly.

They seemed to like what I'd presented so far. I smiled, and cleared my throat to continue from where I left off.

"As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen, based on a centralized foramen magnum — which is that hole you have in the skull for your nerve cord — the yeti had evolved to stand on two legs, not unlike us. However, if you look at us, humans, our neck and spinal cord is attached to our skull at almost a right angle, which isn't the case for the yeti. This creature could most likely move on all fours as well, which makes sense since it probably lives in very rocky terrain."

I took a model human skull from the table. It was much lighter than the yeti skull, which was of course real, and I turned the bottom of it to face the audience so they could see the hole.

"Note how it's centralized. That's a feature not all primates have, only us and maybe orangutans. If our foramen magnum weren't centralized, we'd all be walking like hunchbacks!"

I paused for a brief second, waiting for the laughter to subside. Then I lifted the much heavier yeti skull and pointed at the top.

"Is anyone here familiar with human anatomy and bones?" I asked, and a buzz of noise answered back. A few were affirmative, though most were confused. This was a free lecture, so there were far more commoners in the midst than there were scientists, people off for the afternoon to enjoy a bit of scientific enlightenment. At least, that's what I'd like to think, but they most likely came here expecting a free carnival freak show to brag to others about. I sighed mentally, and brushed the thoughts away.

"The reason I asked is because, in humans, you'd notice that on the top of our heads —" I tapped my head to indicate where I was talking about "— we have smooth, hard bone. We have no protrusion. Try it yourself — feel your head. It's smooth, right?"

At this, quite a few people actually removed their hats, and reached up as prompted, and a low rumbling gurgle of laughter broke out in the audience. I smiled too, seeing them enjoy themselves, and looking like a zoo of monkeys scratching for lice. I always tried to make a lecture as interesting as possible — you were more likely to remember things that way, and I wanted myself to be memorable.

I waited until the hall was reasonably quiet once more before moving on.

"Now, look at the yeti's skull. As you can see, its head is not smooth — there is a ridge on top of it. This is what we call a sagittal crest — it is a bone ridge present in large primates like chimpanzees and gorillas, and it's where the jaw muscles attach. Whenever they bite down on something, the muscles contract, and bring the jaw up."

I smiled, patiently turning the skull this way and that and moving the jaw, showing curious eyes from all directions exactly what I mean.

"Can anyone guess what a bigger crest means?" I asked.

I paused for a few moments, and then a fellow around the middle aisles shouted out.

"Larger jaw muscles?"

"This gentleman is absolutely correct!" I said. "A larger sagittal crest gives more space for jaw muscles to attach, and this means larger jaw muscles, and a stronger jaw. Which then means a stronger bite force."

I flipped on a slide of the Lumiere projector, and a picture of a gorilla skull came into focus on the wall behind me.

"This here is the gorilla, one of our closer relatives," I said, resuming with the lecture. "Look at its head — it's a bit pointy, isn't it? That's the sagittal crest at work. Gorillas are omnivores, but mostly herbivores. They eat lots and lots of tough plant matter with hard to chew fibers — a good, strong grip with the large sagittal crest gives them a nice strong bite that can break down nearly everything they eat."

I hefted the skull back up again and held it sideways.

"Then we have the yeti," I said. "Its sagittal crest is, as you can see, a lot more pronounced than the gorilla's. This, and some evidence of wear and tear at the cheekbones, suggests a very powerful bite force, because when jaw muscles scrape against your bones they actually slowly whittle them away."

A few horrified gasps from ladies in the audience erupted, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"Don't worry! It's perfectly normal, causes no pain, and is common for everyone. In us, it only results in a few small indents on the cheekbone, but in the yeti…" I moved on to another slide, which showed a close up of one side of the yeti's cheek bone, a very shallow but clearly visible indent running along vertical. The audience gasped and murmured appreciatively.

"Judging from this, I have concluded that the yeti's bite force must be very strong. However, to determine whether it's a herbivore or a carnivore, we need to take a look at its teeth. Does anyone know what a canine is? …"

As the afternoon stretched on, so did my lecture, and the audience grew more and more engaged with each piece of information I revealed. Step by step, I pieced together for them a picture of the yeti's possible habitats and behaviors, its possible source of food, and its evolutionary origins. I was in the middle of outlining the great apes' migration routes when a frantic little man off to the side finally caught my attention. I felt a bit sorry for him — he must have been gesturing for five minutes, and being French, he was of course too polite to come directly to me to say what he had to say.

I smiled and asked the audience to wait, and went over to the man, whom I faintly recognized as one of the organizers of the event.

"_Mademoiselle_," he said, wringing his hands together. "You are twenty minutes over time!"

My eyes flicked to a clock mounted on the wall. Almost six o'clock.

"Oh I'm sorry. Is the theatre reserved for another later?"

"Yes, at six thirty! You must finish at once."

Poor man. He seemed beside himself with worry. I gave him a reassuring smile and promised I'll wrap up talking about the migration routes in a minute, and take questions outside.

"Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen," I said breezily. "It appears I've run out of time twenty minutes ago." I gave a shrug and the audience laughed. Going back to the maps, I quickly wrapped up the migrations, and ended the lecture in thunderous applause. Many of the audience seemed genuinely sorry that I wouldn't have enough time to finish everything I wanted to say. I must admit I felt very good with myself — a more successful lecture I could not imagine.

"Will there at least be question period?" some fellow shouted above the clapping.

"Yes, of course — but I've been asked to take it outside. Lights, if you please?"

The theatre lights flickered on, and the stage lights dimmed. After so long in the bright stage light, it took my eyes a little while to adjust. Gentlemen and ladies were clapping and rising, the quicker ones were already leaving, but there was the good, full feeling of a lecture complete. I'd given a talk before, once on the cloud cat, but back then I'd been inexperienced and fretting over my performance for days beforehand. It really wasn't so hard, once you got the hang of it.

"Where will the question period be?" someone else asked. I noticed that a lot of the audience members had not left yet — some hadn't even stood up. This was great. This meant that many people were interested in learning more.

"How forgetful of me, I didn't specify! Question period will be right outside, in the lounge over to…"

I stumbled over my words. I blinked disbelievingly, just to make sure, and felt myself suddenly quite short of breath.

There, down the center and all the way in the back, being pushed by the leaving crowd but standing his ground, was the world's handsomest boy, dressed in a plain shirt and a simple jacket, with an intensity of focus on his face that he usually reserved for flying. His sky blue eyes were just as brilliant as I'd remembered, and he stood out like a gleaming pearl amidst a pile of charcoal. Previously, with the lights off, I couldn't have seen him, but now he was impossible to miss, like a spot of color in a world of grey.

Abruptly, our gazes met, and it was like a single jolt of electrical energy so powerful that I was surprised the room didn't burst into flames. I trembled. He looked shocked, as well, as if not expecting to be noticed, and his face churned with emotion. Even from here, up on the podium maybe a fifty feet away, across a sea of people, I could make out every single one of his expressions. I wanted to call out, to rush down, to be close to him. Just, feel him. I wanted to feel him near me, to feel the warmth of his hands around mine, the sweet softness of his lips, the solid comfort of his arms. It's been more than two weeks since we last saw each other, and suddenly, just as suddenly as I'd spotted him, I wanted to cry.

His mouth opened, as if to say something. He took half a step forward. But that was enough — half a step away from the wall, and the pushing crowd overwhelmed him, and he disappeared beneath their surface, swept along to the exit.

I stood there on the stage, stun-locked and gape-mouthed, until impatient coughs and murmurs of disapproval spread to a loud hum that dragged me back to the present.

I cleared my throat several times. My heart was pounding hard in my chest, and I felt dizzy. The corset pressed on me, hard and tight, robbing me the ability to breathe. I felt dangerously close to fainting, and had to hold on to the podium with a hand.

"I'm… I'm terribly sorry, ladies and gentlemen!" I said after a long moment. "I really am. The truth is, I'm not feeling quite well at this moment and, question period will have to be cancelled. I'm truly sorry, and thank you for your time! I thank you all for attending this lecture, and hope that my findings can help shed some light on this very real, and very wonderful creature. The bones will be on display here in Exhibit C, and if you have any additional questions, please feel free to send me letters, as I will do my best to answer them."

There were a lot of discontent groans, but I couldn't care less at the moment. I bowed, and with shaky steps, went to the backstage. Marjorie was there, sitting in a chair reading under the light.

"Are we done then?" she asked, looking up from her book. "Goodness, I do hope you wouldn't bring those terrible bones back home!"

I strode past her into a small storage room where we had put our belongings, and tore off my god-awful dress and ripped myself out of my corset. I took a deep, long breath, grateful though still light-headed, and quickly threw on my other dress, the one I wore coming here. It was much less constricting.

The murmurs and chatter of the crowd outside was now in full swing, as the rest of the people started to stand up and talk about what they'd just heard. I snapped on a pair of flat-soled shoes that I had sensibly brought with me, grabbed my coat from a peg by the door, and shrugged it on. Then, nearly tripping over myself in haste, I rushed out of the storage room, out through the exit of the backstage, flew down the corridor, and raced towards the exit where I'd last seen him go.

_Please_, I thought to myself. _Please, please, please. Please let me be on time. Please let me see him. Please_.

ooo

I found him outside the lecture theatre, near the lounge where I'd planned to hold my question period. He spotted me almost right after I'd spotted him and, for a bit, there was the same electricity flowing between us as there had been a few minutes ago. Then he broke his gaze and the moment was gone. I walked up towards him, but stopped five or so feet short.

"Hello," he said to the floor.

"Hello," I said, suddenly tremendously unsure of myself. Not for the first time, I wondered how he could look so good in such simple clothes.

"It was a great lecture," he said.

"Thank you."

He still wasn't looking at me, and was shuffling his feet. I remembered what I'd felt back on the stage — the crashing urge to rush to him and hug him and feel him close to me — but now, being five feet away from him, I couldn't even fathom taking another step, let alone touch him. There may as well be a chasm between us, or a mountain, instead of just a few marble tiles.

I wasn't accustomed to silence. We used to talk constantly. He may not be as talkative as I was, but we never had trouble finding a topic. Every time we met, we had endless news to share with each other, about our lives and our studies, our thoughts, and discussions about current events — too many to be named.

"So… how have you been?"

"Good," he said.

"You're lying."

He shrugged.

"You've never been a good liar."

We were silent for a few heartbeats.

"… May I call you Kate?" he asked.

I hesitated, then nodded.

His eyes lit up, and it was amazing how much a simple change in his expression could brighten my world.

"Kate," he said, tasting my name on his tongue. He grinned, but his grin faded as he remembered what was between us. I felt a pang in my chest, and at that moment, I almost wanted to do anything to get him to smile again.

And so, before I knew what I was saying, I blurted: "I missed you."

I watched as both of us tried to comprehend what just happened. He stared at me. I felt a blush start to creep up my cheeks.

"I did too," he said. "I… I had to see you again."

"How did you know?"

"Na—I got fliers here, at the university. They were handing them out."

"And here you are."

"And here I am."

I took a breath.

"… But you're not happy."

"I'm happy to see you again. I'm happy you missed me. I…" He bowed his head.

I reached forward and took his hands in mine. His fingers were a little cold. I squeezed.

"You aren't sure if everything can still work out?"

"… Yeah."

"I'm not sure, either. But I'm glad you came."

He looked relieved. "I wasn't certain you would be."

"I missed you. More than I thought."

I felt his hand squeeze back. I was hoping he'd kiss me, but it seemed too bold of a move here, outside the lounge with gentlemen and professors in their top hats and bowler hats. As we studied each other, bit by bit I felt the spark of energy coming back.

"May I kiss you?" he asked quietly.

I gasped at how alike our thoughts were. I thought of how long ago our last kiss had been — our last _real_ kiss, with none of the mess. But then Matt was blushing and shaking his head.

"Sorry. I got ahead of myself."

Gently, I reached up and touched his lips.

"No you didn't — I'd say yes. But Marjorie might be out soon."

"_She_'s with you?"

I smiled at his tone.

"Did you think she'd let her helpless young charge go to a lecture with scary bones and fur and taxidermy, gawked at by hundreds of smelly men?"

"You're hardly helpless," he countered, a smile on his face as well "You own the taxidermy. And, of course, you're hosting the lecture." Then he wrinkled his nose, and for a moment looked quite panicked. "But am I smelly?"

I laughed out loud. "Goodness, no! I bet you're one of the nicest smelling boys in Paris."

He squeezed my hands again.

"Let's not worry about Miss Simpkins. Are you expected anywhere?"

"Are you planning to abduct me?"

"I'm planning to take you to dinner — if you're willing, that is." He paused. "I want to talk to you. Without all this." He gestured broadly at the lounge and the hallways and the distinguished people. I knew what he meant. Despite our lighthearted banter, neither of us touched on the more important problems. If we were to go back to the way we were before, or at least try, then we'll need to have a serious conversation. We both knew it had to happen, sooner or later. We may both miss each other, but our relationship could not be fixed by love alone.

"You just want to kiss me," I teased.

He blushed again. "That too, if you'll allow it."

I looked back towards the lecture theater. Marjorie could find her own way back, no doubt.

"I'm free for the evening," I said. "Lead the way."


End file.
